


it's easy to break (beneath the weight of the earth)

by starstrucknic



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Big Bang 2020, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Historical AU, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Unhappy Ending, Witch AU, canon warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrucknic/pseuds/starstrucknic
Summary: Summer smacks its lips and swallows Andrew whole in its oppressive heat. It would be easy to erase his existence from this shithole country, melt him down to a mere sweat imprint on a worn out mattress. That’s just how the story always ends, for the monster, the villain. Instead, he wakes a slicked tangle in silk bed sheets, limbs loose enough that he wonders if he’s finally managed to melt in. The sunlight burns; his wrists echo the sentiment.Andrew looks down to see red spider lily fingers poking out of the cuts in his wrists. He brings his wrist to his mouth, red spider lilies crawling down his throat, and bites the stems. It temporarily stops the growth, and yet does nothing to stop the pain. He probably should put every resource into searching for a cure. But, well.Or, the one where Andrew, Prince of Columbia, forms a binding Witch's contract with Neil, an enigmatic Witch on the run.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50
Collections: AFTG Big Bang





	it's easy to break (beneath the weight of the earth)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to ATFG Big Bang 2020!!!
> 
> I was very excited to participate this year with my first fic for the aftg fandom, my first attempt at an au with some semblance of plot, and the longest piece I have ever written to date!! For that, I am forever grateful to all the support I've had on this journey!!
> 
> Thanks so much to damnationatitsbest for the amazing artwork!! You were always quick to respond and produced amazing works of art!! I'm very glad we were matched up together for our first aftg exchange!! Check out the amazing artwork [here](https://damnationatitsbest.tumblr.com/post/631191573496053760/its-easy-to-break-beneath-the-weight-of-the). 
> 
> Thanks to Hedy for beta-ing!! For your encouragements and check-ins!! 
> 
> Finally, thanks so much to the love of my life Tammy T for beta-ing, staying up with me until 2am, the endless encouragement, and stopping me from making rash plot decisions that, frankly, made no sense. I'd be lost without you!!
> 
> See notes at the end for more warnings.
> 
> Title from: Noah Kahan - Anyway

Summer smacks its lips and swallows Andrew whole in its oppressive heat. It would be easy to erase his existence from this shithole country, melt him down to a mere sweat imprint on a worn out mattress. That’s just how the story always ends, for the monster, the villain. Instead, he wakes a slicked tangle in silk bed sheets, limbs loose enough that he wonders if he’s finally managed to melt in. The sunlight burns; his wrists echo the sentiment. 

Andrew looks down to see red spider lily fingers poking out of the cuts in his wrists. He brings his wrist to his mouth, red spider lilies crawling down his throat, and bites the stems. It temporarily stops the growth, and yet does nothing to stop the pain. He probably should put every resource into searching for a cure. But, well.

“Your highness,” Kevin, his Royal Guard, as punctual as he is ornery, says, peeking through the door. He’s already dressed in his full knight’s armor, metal chest plate like feathers and woolen gray cloak with the hood on. He looks as if he is about to storm an enemy fortress rather than deliver the customary morning report. It’s almost funny, so Andrew almost emotes. “...I apologize for the interruption.”

Andrew pulls his sleeves down on his nightshirt and slightly tips his head, but makes no move to rise from his bed. 

“The border patrol revealed no intruders, nor abnormalities. Although, one of the storerooms is short basic supplies. A bag of rations, and some bandages. It is possibly the negligence of one of the newer trainees, seeing how nothing of high value was taken. However…” Kevin trails off. 

Andrew has never seen Kevin shy to offer his opinion. “Spit it out.”

“It is possible there is a mouse sneaking about, Sir.”

Andrew sits up slowly. Kevin’s reluctance to share the possibility of an intruder means he thinks someone slipped in under his watch. This may be more than a mere country mouse. 

“Kill it, then.”

Kevin nods and turns to leave, but hesitates. “Also, the young knight from Palmetto returned today requesting an audience. He says he will not leave until he speaks with you.” Kevin rolls his eyes, as if the knight's actions are directly offensive to him. “I can throw him in confinement, if it pleases you, Sir.”

“No,” Andrew says, silk sheets tangling in his legs as he shifts out of bed, “have his royal Highness see him.”

Kevin’s sharp intake of breath must mean he disagrees, but Andrew waves him off before he can protest. Palmetto has been futilely trying to recruit Columbia for a while, but Palmetto itself has been reduced to nothing but a half destroyed ship in a dried up river valley. They’d lost connection, both good and bad, with any neighboring kingdoms, and were more of a liability than any real asset. Perhaps they’d thought Columbia to be kin, what with its weakening from the Coup two years ago. Little did they know.

The silence means Kevin has already left the room. He never was one for idle pleasantries, which was part of the reason Andrew kept him on. With a sigh, Andrew stretches and stands, only to stumble when he coughs and nearly chokes. His hands come away splattered like a bloody impressionist painting with ripped bits of flower petals pressed in. Well, there’s nothing he can do about that, is there. Not legally, anyway. 

Just then, pecking at his window, is a raven with a letter pinched firmly in its black beak. Andrew unlatches the lock, and the bird’s eyes flash purple in recognition. Its beak opens, revealing a letter with a neatly cursive _Andrew_ written on the front. Well, she always did have an interesting sense of humor. Andrew takes the letter.

The Seer is coming.

***

Three headed amaryllis line the vases around the castle. Red and white faces with rimrod straight spines, they ooze a presumed regalty that royals love to display. Andrew knocks the nearest vase over, the glass shattering along the marble steps. Good riddance. 

“...I appreciate that you’ve granted me an audience, your Highness; however, I implore you to please check your jail again.”

Andrew appears to have entered the throne room at just the right time. It wasn’t what most visitors would expect; a patchy red carpet lined neatly by white marble columns overrun with vines that extended up into the mossy ceilings. Long ago, there was a gold plated mural depicting Columbia’s recently deceased Queen, Tilda Minyard, a vision of golden-haired power, and her conquests of the neighboring territories. Frankly speaking, it depicted the crude decapitations of her enemies, their heads on sticks lined around her and her only heir staring balefully by her side. Andrew would have torn it down by his own hand, had nature not obscured it for him. He still just might.

This overgrowth, of course, extended to the throne itself; once an imposing gold monument, has now been gutted and reduced to nothing more than a rotted wooden chair pulled from the servant’s quarters. It is fitting, in a way, the way the wind sighs through the cracked windows, and echoes off the curling floral life. When Andrew had taken over, he’d ordered the throne room to remain exactly how they’d found it; decayed.

Upon that very rotted throne, now sits a visibly disgruntled Prince Aaron trying his very best to impersonate Andrew while his royal guard, Thea, stoically stands just to his side. Andrew silently takes post next to an even more agitated Kevin. It appears the knight has been arguing the entire time it took Andrew to get ready and come downstairs. 

“And I informed you, knight,” Aaron spits, seemingly having reached the end of his paper-thin patience, “that I would know if there were anyone matching your description locked in one of our cells. There is nothing that happens within these castle walls that I am not aware of.”

Andrew snorts, to which Kevin very nearly elbows him in the side before catching himself, apparently thinking better than to touch him in public. 

The knight in question glances at Andrew for a moment, and, oh, Andrew recognizes him. One Matthew Boyd, the head knight under Wymack’s regime from Palmetto. Normally, he is accompanied by his captain, Danielle Wilds. She vocally advocates for Wymack’s causes, often leaving the kingdom in order to recruit new soldiers. Wymack prides himself on taking the ones who don’t quite fit in, the abandoned who’ve lost everything, and the broken charity cases. Andrew would know. Once upon a time, he was at the top of Wymack’s list.

Dan’s absence now perhaps speaks louder than any of her vocal debates, however.

“I implore you, my liege, please one of our-,” Matt stumbles, but takes a deep breath and begins again. “Please, my lord, allow me to walk the cells myself to check. I must know for certain.”

Aaron inclines his head, as if in thought. “No. Now leave, Palmetto knight.” He chews on Palmetto like one might a rotting cut of meat right before spitting it out. Subtlety never was his strong suit.

Aaron gestures to Thea, who then drags the distraught knight out of the throne room.

“Wait,” Matt pleads. “Wait. I have some information I can exchange. Information about-” 

“Very well, young knight,” Aaron snaps. “If you wish to see the cells so badly, you may.”

Matt’s face lights with hope.

“From inside of it. Guards, lock him up.”

And just like that, the hope is snuffed out, like a candle flame exposed to its first gust of wind. “Your Highness, I-”

Thea doesn’t give him time to finish. The guards previously standing at the door surround him and assist with forcibly dragging him out of the room. Boyd’s sputtering protests can be heard as they make their way down the hallway, presumably to the cellar. And Andrew was supposed to be the impulsive prince without humanity. Hm.

Andrew breaks the silence that follows by slowly clapping. “Very nice, Prince Aaron. Very efficient way of removing the young knight.”

Aaron glares at Andrew, poised to argue, but Andrew continues before he has a chance to speak. 

“Excellent strategy of locking up a well known and respected knight of the bleeding heart Wymack, whose crew would, oh, what would they do, Kevin?” Andrew pauses to look at Kevin, but Kevin wisely keeps his mouth shut. “Oh, right, who would go to the ends of this earth in order to protect what is theirs and theirs alone. I presume the knight is here because he believes we have something, or, rather someone of theirs, right?”

Aaron’s face blanches. “Andrew if you had just-”

“Just what?” Andrew sighs and shrugs. “Didn’t know I’d have to do all your work for you, brother. I suppose I can clean this mess up, too. The same way I clean up all your messes.”

“Andrew!” Aaron rises, reaching for the sword at his belt, but in that moment, Kevin steps in between them. 

“Apologies, Prince Aaron,” Kevin murmurs, and bows low in Andrew’s stead.

Andrew claps a hand on Kevin’s back, roughly shaking him. “Now, Kevin, no need to grovel. He is Prince in title only; that we all know clearly. Come. Let us go hunt for mice, hmm?”

“Yes, your Highness.” Kevin straightens, and nods towards Aaron. “We shall take our leave then, Prince.”

Aaron apparently thinks better than to comment on that and merely slinks back into his seat. A coward until the very end, Andrew thinks. 

How boring.

***

The sun bleeds into the horizon as it settles down to rest. Its rays quietly illuminating the budding chrysanthemums, petals spread like overlapping purple fingers, insides laid out bare for the world to see. Yet there is no sight of hide or hair of the mouse in question. Smart enough to obscure himself so thoroughly in enemy territory, and yet dumb enough to not cover his thefts? The information didn’t add up. 

Andrew doesn’t trust anyone else to help snuff out the intruder, so he and Kevin merely split up to cover the surrounding area outside the castle. 

Once Andrew had taken over, he fired most of the guards and attendants the previous kingdom had employed. Kevin urged him to take on new staff and build more loyalties to him, but Andrew had laughed in his face. Expecting to breed and build loyal men to further Andrew’s political gain was about as appealing as listening to Kevin prattle on about outdated war tactics from one of his prized books. Part of the problem with the old regime was the nepotism and corruption; Andrew had no intention of recreating that mess. If Kevin wanted young knights to yell at, he could very well go out to the lower towns to recruit them himself. The fact that he didn’t was more a testament to Kevin’s overwhelming fear rather than a lack of need. 

Andrew doesn’t believe in regret; Kevin would just have to make up for the lack of numbers in his own physical manpower.

Andrew turns another corner and nearly trips over an overgrown tree root when his vision blurs. Of course the curse would act up now.

Steadying himself on the nearby tree, Andrew stops. The Seer is due to visit just after sunset, so it appears he has run out of time to capture their prey for now. Perhaps he’ll have Kevin stay up all night to search the grounds to repent.

Andrew pushes away from the tree once he’s regained his balance and meanders back down the path leading to his hidden side entrance. Another perk of having very limited staff was the lack of potential witnesses to catch Andrew’s movements. So while he carefully stayed just out of sight from the main castle windows, he could afford to stumble a few more times on the great overgrown roots if it so happened. The question of why nature had turned into his enemy in all forms, still evaded him. Perhaps his curse really was powerful enough to affect the surrounding environment as well. 

Andrew stumbles into his quarters, thinking he has managed to avoid any wandering eyes from spotting him, when he hears a rustle and intake of breath. On instinct, he reaches for the throwing knives hidden underneath his sleeves and is about to attack when he recognizes the intruder.

“Seer.” Andrew isn’t surprised to see Renee has already made herself comfortable in his quarters. She has taken over the small lounging space just outside his bedroom with scattered papers and bundles of herbs and crystals. Some of them are recognizable, agrimony and burdock root among them, but Renee often pilfers from the underground Witch’s market and makes a point to keep her findings hidden from Andrew. Not that he really cares, but, he supposes, she has a right to be cautious.

“Prince.” Renee mock curtsies, the image of a perfectly poised noblewoman. If not for her magically dyed rainbow hair and purple cat eyes, she could almost pass for one. “I see your health has declined once again.”

Andrew slides into the chair opposite her without responding. He pulls his sleeve up and bares his right arm for her to examine. 

She doesn’t flinch as she takes in the sight of multiple lacerations, stubby stems, and budding spider lilies crisscrossing Andrew’s forearm. The rate of growth has steadily increased over the past month for no apparent reason. Maybe he is just running out of time.

Renee soaks a torn piece of cloth into the mixture in her wooden bowl. It smells strongly of medicinal herbs and stings when it touches Andrew’s skin. Almost inaudibly, Renee chants a spell in a language Andrew can’t place, as the mixture burns the stems and flowers away. Once she has sufficiently covered the affected area, she gently wraps his wounds in a white bandage, tight enough that it hurts, but not so much as to cut off his blood flow. 

“This should help with the superficial growth. Change the bandage after three days, and reapply this medicinal salve. I should be able to brew up enough to last the month, if you allow me to stay the night.”

Andrew nods and holds out his other arm for Renee to work on.

“Have you noticed signs of the curse internally?”

As if on cue, Andrew coughs up a mixture of blood and flower petals. At this, Renee’s indifferent expression shatters from its natural serenity. Even Andrew knows once a curse begins affecting internal organs, it is too late. 

“Perhaps I will stay an additional day. I should be able to come up with a drinkable potion to lessen the curse’s effect. Although-” she pauses in her train of thought, but continues to clean and bandage his wounds.

Andrew pulls out of her grasp and glares at her. Renee sighs. 

“Although,” she continues, and Andrew allows her to resume her work, “I still think you should have another Witch take a look. If you accompany me to the Foxhole Court, then the Elder Sage can examine you.”

The same argument. Renee knows his stance, so Andrew doesn’t bother to repeat it. He doesn’t want news of his curse spreading any further. If that stance is the cause of his death, then so be it. He’s almost fulfilled his end of every deal he has struck and once those obligations are done, there will be no point in playing pretend in this kingdom, anyway. Prince Aaron can rightfully and fully take the throne as Andrew is sure he has always truly desired. Maybe it’s best the curse takes him out sooner rather than later.

“I’ve heard that the Foxhole Court has also recently taken in a new Witch. Rumor has it, he is intimately familiar with ancient curses, though I don’t believe he specializes in healing magic. I haven’t met him yet, but I believe it may be useful to consult with him and see if he knows anything.”

“Hmm.” Andrew drums the fingers of his free hand against his thigh. Renee wouldn’t normally push unless she had an ulterior motive. “What have you seen, Seer?”

Renee’s cat eyes flash, but her motions don’t stop. “Can’t I be worried about you, Andrew?”

“You know I don’t like to repeat myself.”

This time, it’s Renee who pulls away. She turns to look at the desk, touches some herbs, and fiddles with a piece of paper. Andrew is content to wait her out, and merely leans back.

“I saw her,” Renee finally says and turns to look Andrew in the eye. Her eyes are shining, as if threatening to spill over with tears. “She will be entering your country soon. I was hoping you could be of aid in finding her. I’m willing to exchange whatever it takes for your assistance.”

“By ‘she’ I presume you mean the fallen Princess Reynolds?” Renee’s flinch tells him he’s right. Andrew nods. “When?”

Renee’s expression shutters. “It could be tomorrow, or in a week, or a month, or a year. I had very little to go off of, this time.”

Renee confessed, haltingingly, back when they lived together in the decrepit cabin just outside of town, that she couldn’t control her Visions. It was right after Andrew had murdered his first, and then been cursed. Renee had seen what was to befall him, but just hadn’t been there in time to stop it. Sometimes she is able to predict an event with one hundred percent accuracy. Other times, she only has a feeling that something is wrong, but not what. 

“After the Reynolds Kingdom fell and was overtaken by the Ravens, it was rumored that the royal family was split up and sold off in the human slave trade. I finally tracked down the seller and he informed me of the Princess’ whereabouts.”

“Oh Renee.” Andrew stands so he is now looking down on her. Renee neatly avoids his gaze. “Love has made you soft.”

“I know you cannot understand the emotion behind my motives.” Renee clenches her fist, and finally looks up at Andrew. “However, I think you can understand that I made a promise to her that I intend to keep. Please” 

“There is no need to beg.” Andrew nearly rolls his eyes, but doesn’t. It is Renee, after all. “And if you ever try to again, I will break your knees.”

At that, Renee’s darkened expression finally opens, like the sky after a harrowing thunderstorm. “I will locate your Princess if you bring the young Witch here in secret. No questions, no revealing my identity.”

Emotions, Andrew is incapable of doing. But transactions, unbiased exchanges of goods in equal value, he excels in. This is something he can give back to Renee, for all that she helped him in the past and continues to do now. Neither of them acknowledge the heavy weight between them, but they don’t necessarily need to. 

Renee finally smiles, so hopefully it burns. Andrew has to look away.

“Oh, and remove Boyd from the Kingdom. He is irritating.”

“Sir Matt is here?” Renee sounds genuinely surprised at the revelation. “I’ve been preoccupied tracking the seller that I haven’t had the time to check back in. How curious.”

“I had thought Wymack kept his wards under closer supervision.” Renee genuinely chuckles at that. Andrew dutifully ignores it. “I don’t want Wymack to show up on my doorstep. I’ll take you down to the cellars and you can deal with him.”

Renee nods in easy agreement and Andrew leads her out. They only pass by one stray attendant, one of Aaron’s from before the coup. She wisely curtsies, but says nothing as they approach. This one Andrew knows the Prince has an… attachment to. If Andrew swerves just slightly into her path to almost slam into her shoulder as he passes, well. It would be merely a coincidence. The attendant doesn’t react; though, Andrew can see her hands shaking. 

Soon enough, they descend the stairs to the lower level, where they only keep the criminals they wish to interrogate in secret. Or, when Prince Aaron decides to dole out an admittedly non-deserved confinement. Rumor has it, the previous Queen would often keep her misbehaving servants confined here with little food and water as punishment for perceived slights against the Kingdom. Andrew intended to destroy the cellar for that reason alone, but Aaron would not hear of closing it off. 

Normally, Andrew would not care for the Prince’s desires. It remains for now, and Andrew doesn’t read too much into the decision why.

“Renee!” Matt could crack his face with how wide his smile is. To his credit, it only slightly stiffens when he sees Andrew. “Your Highness. I realize I was forward, earlier, but I-”

“Matt,” Renee cuts in, as if gently pressing her thumb to a crack leaking water. It helps a little, but even she knows the foundation is too damaged to fix. “What brings you to Columbia?”

“I,” Matt glances over at Andrew, and then back to Renee, eyebrows furrowed. “I was explaining to the Prince how Neil has gone missing. We found a letter in his room, a threat, so Dan and I left in search of him. We were tracking him east for a while, when we stumbled into Columbia. Dan is checking the lower towns, but I strongly believe Neil ended up closer to the castle and thought he had gotten captured. I see now that is not the case.”

Sheepishly, Matt addresses Andrew. “I apologize for having wasted the Prince’s time.”

Renee, too, looks at Andrew. Andrew knows her well enough to see underneath her calm expression. Matt is someone to her, and so Andrew will look the other way. For now. 

With an eye roll, Andrew pounds the wall to get the attention of the nearby guard. Without a word, the guard passes the keys to Andrew. Andrew limply holds the keys out for Renee to take and free Matt from his cell.

“If that’s all.” Andrew attempts to disengage from the dull conversation, when Boyd breaks the silence.

“Your Highness, while I was wrong to think Neil had been captured, I strongly believe he is hiding within your kingdom.” Boyd produces a ripped cloth from his pocket. “I found this caught on the gates surrounding the castle. I know it is unlikely, but it looks to match what I remember of Neil’s cloak. It is possible he passed through here. I humbly ask your Highness to allow me to search the grounds for him.”

“There are things, young knight, that an intruder from a rival kingdom should know better than to ask for.” One act of mercy, and the mosquitos think they can drain all his blood. Andrew cannot stand the attitude of Wymack’s knights; the show of loyalty burns like acid on his tongue. None of it is real. However, if Renee truly wishes it, Andrew will search the grounds personally. But that doesn’t mean he will abide by Boyd’s terms and conditions. “You will leave. If I see you prowling the Kingdom, I will show no mercy.”

Matt steps forward, in challenge, but Renee places a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Why don’t we meet up with Dan and regroup, Matt? I have a little business to attend to here for the next few days, but I will join you in the search.” Renee turns to Andrew. “We thank your Highness for his benevolence. I will take Sir Matt to the city to find amenable accommodations before returning.”

Andrew waves her off. Boyd’s clenched jaw and fist show just how displeased he is, but he does not speak another word. 

Finally, some quiet.

***

Daffodils look so easy to swallow, bright yellow like golden honey that would glide down your tongue, into your throat. Of course, anything that looks too good to be true, probably is. Andrew’s wrist aches. 

After Andrew bids Renee goodbye at the gate, he heads towards the guard’s station, where Kevin no doubt is punching holes into the wall at his own incompetence. Andrew could use something to lift his mood, and Kevin’s frustration never fails to amuse. At least, for a little while. 

Just as he approaches the guard’s tower, Andrew sees Kevin and another, tied and kneeling at Kevin’s feet. So, Kevin had been successful at catching the intruder after all. Just when Andrew had thought he was up against a challenge.

“Kevin.” At Andrew’s voice Kevin faces him, his expression unusually sullen. The mouse has been gagged and bound, but not, judging by the blooming red stain darkening Kevin’s left eye, before getting a shot at Kevin. Not totally innocent, then.

“Your-” Kevin starts, but bites his tongue. He knows Andrew hates titles and hierarchy enforced by Royal do-nothings, yet sometimes Kevin cannot help but revert back to abiding by the manners the Raven’s beat into him. The Raven’s regime actively brainwashes their subjects to keep them under the Kingdom’s thumb. They value blind loyalty and gain that through illicit ancient spells and restrictive education. Any kingdom that tried to intervene were either conquested or brought to ruins. 

Kevin happened to be born in a very small town whose Kingdom eventually was destroyed by the Raven’s. Without a choice, Kevin’s parents negotiated a trade; Kevin for their freedom to flee. Little did they know, it wouldn’t matter. They, too, were captured and killed, but Kevin was shipped off to the Raven’s Kingdom to serve Riko personally. 

He was less than human in their eyes, so he was subjected to inhumane living conditions and teachings for most of his life. He’s made progress, but some lessons are carved too deep to erase, right into the very marrow of his bones. All the more reason to gut Riko like a pig when the time is right. 

“Andrew. I found him poking around in the Royal armory. He struggled, but, honestly, he isn’t that strong. However-” Kevin trails off.

Andrew doesn’t have the patience to listen to all of Kevin’s theories, so he pulls the hood off the intruder to reveal sparking blue eyes, a dirtied face, and, underneath that, burn scars. “A Witch.”

The mouse flinches and gargles through the gag, perhaps to deny the accusation, but stops.

“...it would seem so.” Kevin sighs, pulling tighter on the ropes that bound him. “How shall we dispose of him, Sir?”

Dispose of the Witch… who didn’t even try to disguise that he is a Witch. A local would know better than to be unhidden in a country rampant with anti-Witch bigotry. His red hair and dark skin tone already imply outsider, and yet he didn’t even bother to cover his Witch’s mark. Is this kid just an idiot?

“What did he try to steal?” A Witch surely wouldn’t have use for mundane weapons. But why he would suspect there to be a useful magical artifact lying around in a Royal armory remains unclear. Unless, he had insider knowledge, of course. Interesting.

“Unknown. He refuses to speak and I caught him before he had the chance to steal.” Kevin shrugs. “There were no other intruders found within the vicinity, so it is unlikely to have been a staged coup.”

Andrew pulls the gag out of the intruder’s mouth and grips his chin to force him to look up. His fingers dig into the burns, but the witch doesn’t even cry out. Or flinch. Instead, he glares at Andrew’s face as if trying to burn him alive. 

Kevin is used to Andrew’s silence by now, so he continues his monologue, unperturbed by the lack of response.“I will take him to the prison to be interrogated. It’s possible he is just an outsider who unknowingly breached Royal property. Or he is just stupid enough to try to steal from the Royal armory. Either way, I’m sure he could be persuaded to speak, with enough time.” 

The intruder opens his mouth as if to protest, but stops. Before he fully closes his mouth, Andrew spies a flash of red. Andrew’s grip tightens on his face, as he forces the intruder’s mouth open again. He succeeds, and then tenses up.

“What is it?” Kevin must see the new tension. He tries to peer over the intruder’s head and then stops. “What do you see?”

“His tongue.” Andrew forces the intruder’s head back for Kevin to look.

Kevin visibly flinches, and nearly releases the intruder, face paling. “But, that’s not possible. He couldn’t- he-”

Andrew releases his grip. “Looks like Riko says hello, Kevin.”

On the intruder’s tongue is the mark of the rival kingdom that nearly killed Kevin and Andrew, only barely visible beneath the myriad of deep lacerations. 

A spy then, or, maybe, an escaped pet, like Kevin.. Curious. “Gag and cover him.”

Normally, Kevin would obey without thought. However, like a well worn coat, the panic wraps around Kevin’s shoulders at the mere mention of Riko’s name.

Kevin ignores Andrew’s orders, and instead pulls out his water skin to splash water onto the intruder’s face. Kevin wipes away some of the dirt and freezes.

“Nathaniel.”

The Witch breaks, a coughing fit overcoming his forced calm.

“Prince Andrew?” The intruder, Nathaniel, says, or, well, tries to, but the words are slurred.

“Witch,” is all Andrew says in response.

“Prince, you can’t dispose of me,” Nathaniel coughs, blood dripping out of his mouth. “I’m the only one who can dispel your curse.”

Andrew freezes at that, and gives Kevin a long, hard look. Kevin is still too shaken up to really process it. If there were booze around, Kevin surely would have downed it all in one go. 

Coward.

“Bind the Witch, Kevin. We are taking him back to my personal quarters to interrogate.”

Kevin listens, albeit haltingly, and just before he slips the bag back over Nathaniel’s head, Andrew spies the flash of a snarl. 

Perhaps the night is not lost to boredom of the mundane after all. 

It seems Andrew has found himself a challenge. 

Interesting.

**

Blood red poppies fall from Andrew’s mouth, staining his hands, his sleeves, with every heaving cough. He’s heaving hard enough he wouldn’t be surprised if bits of lungs fell out. 

There’s a knock at the door; Andrew wipes away what he can, before he confirms entry.

The attendant bows to Andrew before entering his chambers to prepare his linens and change the water. She pauses only a moment when she sees someone chained to the wall, but she makes no sound or question at the sight. This one, Marissa, Andrew remembers, also was around and attended Prince Aaron alongside Aaron’s pet. Perhaps she is used to such sights, or perhaps she knows better than to utter a sound in Andrew’s presence. While Prince Aaron is not talkative or expressive himself, most people tend to find Aaron the more approachable one of the two twins. And, well, Andrew had slaughtered half the old regime before taking over. That tends to leave a lasting impression.

Once the attendant is done fussing with the sheets, she glances at Nathaniel. He is still covered in dirt and passed out, truly a pathetic sight. She seems to build up her courage and turns to bow in Andrew’s direction

“Your Highness,” she says, her voice breaking. She swallows and begins again. “Shall I clean up the... guest?”

Andrew does not care much for the health of the intruder, but it would be nice to not have to wash mud stains out of his carpet. Andrew resolutely ignores that voice in his head whispering that if Nathaniel were aesthetically pleasing now, he would be doubly so without the dirt maring his face.

Andrew waves a dismissive hand. “Get on with it, then.”

Marissa seems surprised that Andrew answered. But she does not press her luck by continuing the conversation. Instead she steps away to retrieve a bucket, rag, and some bandages before working on Nathaniels’ face. Andrew doesn’t mean to stare, but can’t help observing as the dirt and grime are stripped away. 

Well, this may be a problem. 

Once she has finished cleaning his face, she gently sets aside his cloak and looks for tears in his clothes. She works her way down until she reaches his hands, which, Andrew just now notices, are gloved. With magic dampening gloves. 

Andrew opens his mouth to stop her, he does, but before he can, Marissa pulls off the gloves to touch Nathaniel’s bloodied palms and then-

She’s gone.

Or, more accurately, Andrew watches her skin melt, blood evaporate, and bones turn into fucking ashes. 

What. The fuck just happened?

Andrew’s mind whirls. Nathaniel wasn’t even awake and he managed to kill the attendant with one single touch? Andrew heard that Witches were dangerous, and generally not much is known about their abilities, but if it were common for Witches to kill with a single touch, surely, the public would be in more of a panic.

Well, at the very least, it explains why Riko had taken another pet. He always did like collecting dangerous toys. 

A scream catches Andrew’s attention, and he notices the pet attendant, Katelyn, standing in the doorway, shrinking in fear. 

“Y-your Highness.” She is crying now, her hands raised to her mouth in an attempt to obscure the heaving sobs. Presumably, she had come to check that her fellow attendant was alright in the monster’s den. No attendant liked to linger in Andrew’s chambers. How nauseating. “Marissa, she-”

“What is happening.” As if on cue, Prince Aaron comes running to the aid of his little pet. Of course he had accompanied the servant to Andrew’s quarters. As if the prince of a fucking kingdom has no other responsibilities to attend to. 

Andrew rubs his temples to stave off the pending headache. When Aaron will learn the servant girl will do nothing but ruin his life, Andrew does not know. He doubts his brother will ever be intelligent enough to learn that love ruins. Softness decays into weakness. It’s only a matter of time. 

Aaron stops short once he enters the room, as he takes in the sight of Nathaniel and the ashes. Andrew notices he has gripped Katelyn’s shoulder, in a gesture that Aaron must think is soothing. Ah, if she had been the attendant who tended to Nathaniel instead…

Prince Aaron shoots Andrew a threatening glare and spits. “What have you done?”

Andrew laughs and shrugs. Of course Aaron would think the servant’s death was one of Andrew’s whims. He is a monster, afterall. “Oh brother.”

Aaron flinches at that, but Andrew ignores it.

“What makes you so sure I did anything untoward?” Andrew didn’t think it possible, but Aaron’s face darkens even more in anger. “It is exactly how you see. The witch has killed the servant. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Aaron opens his mouth, perhaps to argue, perhaps to sling another vile threat, but doesn’t say anything.

“What’s with the yelling?” Nicky says, from somewhere behind Aaron. “Your only cousin returns from his long, tiring journey, and the moment he does, both Princes are already at each other’s throats?” 

Aaron shifts and Andrew can see that Nicky has grasped Aaron’s arm. Whether to hold him back from charging further in or merely as a show of support, Andrew doesn’t know. Maybe it was meant to be both and yet neither. Nicky knows he can’t take even the pampered Aaron in a fight.

“I leave for barely a few days, and you two are fighting. I know you must have missed me, but I’m nothing to fight-” Nicky cuts off, “-why is Neil chained to your wall, Andrew? What is happening?”

Neil? Nicky is clearly looking at Nathaniel as he says it, which means either the missing Witch from the Foxhole Court bears a striking resemblance to the captured Evermore runaway, or the runaway in question has been lying through his teeth. Andrew is leaning towards the latter; he doesn’t believe in coincidences. Interesting.

Aaron shrugs off Nicky’s hand. “Andrew has decided on another purge.” He points to the ashes. 

“What? Why would-” Nicky loses color in his expression. He sees Nathaniel’s discarded glove and seems to connect the dots. “No. Oh no. Oh fuck.”

Aaron shifts attention to Nicky. His anger is like a coiled venomous snake that thrashes to bite whomever is nearest. He doesn’t spare Nicky from its sharp fangs, despite Nicky’s usual ardent defence of Aaron’s interests. “Explain.”

“Listen, Aaron, I know it’s hard to believe, but this was probably an accident.” Nicky has his hands held up, palms out, as if to convince Aaron he is not the enemy. Softly, almost to himself, he says, “Neil did say he was dangerous, but never explained how. I guess it makes sense.”

“Nicky,” Aaron half shouts.

“Well-” Nicky winces.

“What...Where.” And, ah, of course, the perpetrator in question regains consciousness in time to be confronted.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Andrew says, and laughs. “Care to explain why a servant was killed after touching your hand?”

Nathaniel, or Neil, or whatever the fuck his name is, doesn’t openly react to that. His expression remains neutral as he scans the room, as if evaluating every possible escape route. Andrew can practically see the gears turning in his head as he surely plans his next lie. 

“Without the lies, _Nathaniel_.” Andrew can’t resist testing the boundaries. This hit lands, and Nathaniel’s expression cracks, ever so slightly, a fine line in otherwise smooth porcelain. It takes a moment, but he pulls himself back together. 

“Your Highness,” Nathaniel slurs. As he coughs, spatters of blood fly out. Nathaniel grimaces. “I don’t…”

“Cut the shit.” And that’s Prince Aaron, apparently the last of his patience has finally run out. 

“Now, now,” Nicky says, physically stepping between Aaron and Andrew. “Neil is obviously injured and barely conscious. Listen, he is from the Foxhole Court. Everyone over there vouches for him, so I’m sure whatever happened was an accident. We can call Wymack over and just-”

“No,” Aaron hisses, “no more outsiders. Off with his head.” 

Aaron turns to find his trusted guard, Thea, to do his dirty work. Of course Aaron would rush to a beheading. Just like his mother.

“Prince Aaron,” Andrew exhales, “why don’t you take your pet and go take a walk around the grounds. Or sign some of the new orders. Or do whatever it is you so preoccupy your time with. Your assessment and presence are not needed here.” 

“Andrew,” Aaron argues, but Andrew levels him with a flat look. Aaron deflates at once. 

He grips a still sobbing Katelyn and spins her out of the room. As he leaves, he spits, “This isn’t over.”

Andrew doesn’t acknowledge the stupidity of that statement. When he turns back to Nathaniel, he sees that Nicky is now standing in between them. Ah, Nicky. A traitor to the end.

Andrew flicks his fingers in dismissal. “That will be all, Nicky.”

Nicky looks like he wants to protest, but doesn’t. Even Nicky knows this is not a fight he will win. Blood has been spilt; be it intentionally or accidentally, it doesn’t matter, and Andrew must move decisively. 

“...I will write to Wymack. At the very least, he should know where Neil is.” Nicky bows and all but runs out of the room with his tail between his legs. 

Once alone, Andrew turns to Nathaniel. To Nathaniel’s credit, he meets Andrew’s glare head on without sign of fear or trepidation. Andrew doesn’t yet know if this is to indicate that he is stupidly brave or bravely stupid. Regardless, it is an interesting change of pace. His castle walls are filled with nothing but cowards. 

Andrew steps forward to grip Nathaniel’s chin. Nathaniel doesn’t move, but he tenses. In anticipation for a punch, perhaps, or merely a conditioned response. For a flash, Andrew hates with a loathing he hasn’t felt since-

Well. No need to go there. 

“I thought Witches had accelerated healing.” Andrew squeezes Neil’s jaw until he opens his mouth and reveals the Witch’s mark on his tongue. It is still oozing blood and looks almost worse than it did when Andrew first laid eyes on it. Andrew releases Nathaniel’s jaw enough that he should be able to speak.

Slowly, Nathaniel murmurs, “...is magically bound.” Nathaniel grimaces. “...more I speak, the worse…” 

Andrew sighs and releases him. “I assume you cannot undo the curse yourself because you are lacking in magical energy?”

Nathaniel tilts his head in consideration and then slowly nods. 

How convenient for the intruder. But Andrew doesn’t know enough about magic to really dispute it.

“I don’t see why I should let an intruder stay the premises alive, let alone save one from dying. At the moment, your life doesn’t hold any value.”

Nathaniel simply stares back at him.

“Especially seeing how all signs point to your being Riko’s pet with unknown origins and plans. You appear to be a pathological liar, if I am to believe it is true that you’ve misled your companions at the Foxhole Court.”

Again, Nathaniel does not visibly react to the accusations. Instead, he does an approximation of a shrug and tilts his head back to look towards the ceiling. After what feels like an eternity, but surely is only a few minutes of nothing but the sounds of their breaths, Nathaniel lowers his gaze to meet Andrew’s. 

“Kill me,” he slurs. 

That startles a laugh out of Andrew. Despite Andrew’s response, Nathaniel does not avert his gaze or show any more cracks in his expression. It seems like a genuine request, which is what convinces Andrew that it must be a lie afterall. It appears as though Nathaniel has gone through a lot of trouble to conceal his identity and survive, so it makes no sense to concede here. 

“Do I look stupid to you?” Andrew pulls his chair directly in front of Nathaniel and sits down. The corner of Nathaniel’s lips twitch, as if attempting to smile. Perhaps his face is too burned to make the motion, or maybe he, too, has forgotten how to truly smile, but his lips fall back into neutrality.

Nathaniel shakes his head and closes his eyes. It seems his consciousness is fading, once more. 

“Kevin,” Nathaniel mumbles, a whisper of what his voice once was, “...here.”

“Why would I listen to your demands?”

Nathaniel huffs. “You.. shouldn’t.”

And then Nathaniel is still, save for his shaky inhales and exhales. Andrew could kill him here, right now, and no one would ever know. He could say Nathaniel bled out from his injuries. Andrew raises a hand to Nathaniel’s throat. He taps along to the rhythm of Nathaniel’s pulse; how easy it would be to squeeze and watch as Nathaniel takes his last breath. 

Instead, Andrew withdraws and leans back in his chair. The puzzle has yet to be solved, and, oh, Andrew is in dire need of a new puzzle. 

He will crack Nathaniel yet.

But not yet. First, he needs the puzzle to live. Andrew rubs his eyes, pausing, inhaling, before abruptly banging his fist against the wall. 

Faintly, he can hear Kevin’s responding curse. As expected, he seems to have been pressed up with his ear against the door, like a peeping maid. 

“You might as well make yourself useful, Kevin. Write to Renee. Tell her of the situation and that she needs to bring medicinal herbs.”

He takes Kevin’s silence as reluctant agreement. Perhaps Kevin was hoping Andrew would kill Nathaniel and be done with it. _A monster_ , Kevin had once cried, all those years ago, when he’d been freshly battered and bleeding, after his escape from one prison to his presumed recapture. Somehow, Andrew doesn’t think his impression has evolved much.

It was going to be a long night.

**

Crisp white snapdragons decay in the pot next to Andrew’s bed. A petal drops to the floor, a splash of blood, and silence resumes once more. 

The floorboards creak; the house moans. 

A monster bellows a horrific groan. 

It does not matter that Andrew circled his bed three times before he got in, or that he lay perfectly still, slashed wrists up as if to say I’ve survived worse and lived. 

Nothing will stop the monster’s prowl.

“A.J,” the monster exhales, his breath rotting past his venomous teeth. “Are you awake?”

Monsters only exist only in nightmares. That’s what Cass always says, right before she bids Andrew goodnight, closes his door, closes the light. It’s dark at night, so dark and still.

But this monster has a face and a human form, one that’s masked when the sun rises from its listless sleep. 

“Oh, A.J. This is our secret, ok?”

Drake.

A snapdragon petal drops to the floor, once more. This time blood red petals stain the floor. 

**

Purple hyacinths crawl into his ears like a thousand bees and take root in his brain. If he scratches hard enough, maybe, maybe he can dig the rot out, a lump of melted purple. His fingers stained purple and red; he’d smear it all over the walls.

And yet-

Sunlight filters through the blinds and lures Andrew to consciousness like a lighthouse drawing a ship to the shore. As always, Andrew startles when he wakes in unfamiliar territory, his limbs lashing out on impulse to fight unseen demons. Once he recognizes that he is in the outer part of his chambers, he relaxes his guard a fraction. At some point while keeping watch, he had fallen asleep. Andrew rubs his eyes. How foolish.

Nathaniel is still passed out in the same position as Andrew last saw him. If anything, his condition seems to have worsened overnight. It’s a wonder he is even alive. 

A runaway with the devil's luck; it suits what Andrew knows about him, at the very least. 

It only takes another two hours for the gentle peace of the morning to be interrupted by multiple hastily approaching footsteps. That and Kevin’s angry shouts of protest. Andrew tilts to look at the ceiling and counts to ten. 

Andrew opens his eyes again and turns to look when he hears the first of two sets of doors slam open. Andrew probably shouldn’t be surprised that Renee shows up with Boyd and Captain Wilds in tow. Of course they wouldn’t resist coming to see Nathaniel for themselves. Perhaps merely out of mistrust in Andrew or just because sometimes you need to see something for yourself to believe it. Why they should still care when Nathaniel has so obviously been lying to them, Andrew doesn’t know. Or, frankly, care. But he is curious as to what the runaway will say to explain his way out of his current predicament. Nathaniel has proven himself thus far to be endless entertainment and intrigue. It really is a shame that Andrew will most likely end up having to kill him. Truly a shame. 

At the sight of Andrew, Matt and Dan stutter to a stop. Renee nods in Andrew’s direction and heads directly to Nathaniel to heal his injuries

“Don’t touch his hands.” 

Renee pauses at Andrew’s voice and they share a look. They’ve always been good at speaking without using words, and now proves no different. Renee doesn’t acknowledge his words, but Andrew knows she takes them to heart. She examines Nathaniel, careful not to directly touch his skin.

“Neil!” And that’s Dan, apparently, unable to bear the silence any longer. “What did you do to him? Why is he half dead in your chambers!”

Dan takes a step toward Andrew, wind swirling around her in her distress, poised as if she might strike. It reminds Andrew of injured prey posturing before its predator. How surprised would she be if Andrew were to strike out? But before Dan is within striking distance, Boyd reels her back in. 

“Your Highness, pardon the intrusion. Renee informed us of the intruder and his resemblance to Neil, so we’ve accompanied her because we-.”

The wind settles as Dan pushes past Matt, after a glare in Andrew’s direction, and goes to kneel by Renee’s side. 

Matt lets her go by, seemingly unconcerned, and continues, “...needed to see for ourselves. Please pardon the intrusion.”

Matt, too, enters the room and opts to stand just behind Dan. It’s interesting to see how worked up the two knights have become at the sight of their lying, thieving companion at death’s door. Perhaps they will change their minds once they find out Nathaniel has connections with Riko. People only keep what’s convenient and discard the liabilities. At least, in Andrew’s experience. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Dan murmurs, pitched low enough that Andrew could ignore her if he so desired.

“He’s magically drained. There’s also something that’s preventing him from healing and regenerating his magical stores. I’m not sure if it’s a curse or some underlying condition.” Renee leans back and turns to look at Dan. “Right now, his body is trying to heal itself via a forced hibernation, of sorts. I’m going to try to inject my magic into his body to see if that helps stimulate healing.”

“You can take my magic, too,” Dan says, as she lifts her hand. She jerks her head towards Boyd. “Matt won’t mind sparing some of his either, right?”

Matt grins and flexes. “I’ve got enough to spare!”

Renee smiles. “Then please place one hand on my back. This should hopefully only take a few minutes.”

Dan and Matt nod, and do as instructed. Renee glows a vibrant purple and gently lays a hand on Nathaniel’s forehead. The effects are almost immediate. Color returns to Nathaniel’s face as his body glows, seemingly eager to soak in the magic needed to regenerate. 

True to her word, Renee stops after a few moments, looking tired, but not dangerously so. Within moments, Nathaniel’s eyes open, and he startles badly enough that he jerks backwards and slams his head into the wall.

“...ow,” Nathaniel grimaces, and attempts to bring his hand to rub at the sore spot behind his head, but ends up jerking against the chain. He frowns, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he looks beyond Renee, and to Boyd and Dan. “Captain. Matt. What brings you here?”

“Why you-” Dan moves towards Nathaniel, as if about to hug him, but perhaps out of consideration for his health, or for his obvious discomfort at being near other people, she stops. Instead, she raises a hand to gently ruffle his hair. “Kid, you will be the death of me, I swear. You had us worried when you just disappeared in the middle of the night! What happened? How did you end up here?”

Nathaniel looks almost ashamed. Damn, he really is a good liar. 

“Something came up. It should be fine now, so you don’t need to-”

“Neil,” Matt cuts in, crossing his arms. “We saw the letter from Riko. What’s really going on?”

Nathaniel freezes. It takes a minute, but he seems to resolve himself. Andrew thinks it’s almost impressive how quickly he is able to spin lie after lie and keep his companions eating out of the palm of his hand. Renee’s unchanged expression all but indicates that she is thinking the same thing. 

It seems that Matt and Dan have staked their claim on Nathaniel, believing he is another misfit like them; one who is hurt, but mostly healing. Andrew suspects Nathaniel is more like Renee and himself; too damaged to be fixed. 

“My parents were killed by Riko’s family,” Nathaniel begins, staring at the far wall behind Andrew’s head. “It was just… the wrong place at the wrong time. Riko saw some potential in me and decided instead of killing me, he would ‘take me under his wing.’ He wanted to train the best and the brightest of his generation, or so he claimed.”

Nathaniel sighs, and readjusts his gaze to lock onto Andrew’s. For some reason, Andrew can’t look away.

“Training was a nice way to say I was kept as Riko’s dog, to do with as he saw fit. I was less than human in their eyes, and Riko spared no expense to show just how worthless my life was to him. He branded me, experimented with my powers, and had me-” Nathaniel cuts off, takes a breath, and averts his gaze again. “Anyway, with a little help from one of the other… prisoners, I was able to escape. I thought I had hidden my tracks, even went so far as to change my name and my looks, but Riko found me anyway. He sent his people to come kill me. I was lucky enough to make it out alive, but his lackeys injured me, and messed with my magic. I would have died had I not stumbled into Columbia by accident. I’m sorry for lying, and hiding, but, well. I didn’t trust any of you not to sell me out.”

“Neil…” Matt begins, but quiets when Nathaniel shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Neil looks to Andrew again. “Inadvertently, you saved my life, your Highness. For that, I owe you my gratitude. I promise to disappear as soon as you release me. I have no desire to drag anyone else into my drama. Riko will chase me until the end of my life. I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Curious,” Andrew finally interrupts. Boyd and Dan look in his direction, while Renee exhales audibly. Nathaniel seems locked to Andrew’s gaze. “I wonder why I don’t believe you, ‘Nathaniel.’ Oh, perhaps it is because everything out of your mouth has been a lie. I don’t see any reason to trust what you are saying now.”

“Andrew, you can’t just-” Dan begins, but is interrupted by Nathaniel.

“You are correct, your Highness. It would be foolish to believe a nobody who trespassed your castle walls and stole from you. But, you don’t have to trust me. How about we make a deal, instead?”

Andrew gestures for Nathaniel to continue.

“If you let me live, I will help solve your… problem. We will make a binding contract. You may not trust what I say, but even I can’t lie my way out of a binding Witch’s contract.”

Andrew glances at Renee to confirm.

Renee grimaces. “Breaking a Witch’s binding contract causes a recoil that is often lethal. I’ve never heard of a Witch successfully able to break out of one.”

“But Neil.” This time it is Matt who protests. “A contract binding does not allow for any measure of failure. If someone interferes and makes you break the contract, the recoil will still harm you! It’s too much of an unnecessary risk. We should just call Wymack over here and-”

“No,” Nathaniel interrupts. “This is my mess, and I will clean it up. Your Highness, surely there is something you wish to be solved? A Witch’s contract is hard to come by, you know.”

Andrew tips his head. “Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel winces, a barely-there crinkle in the otherwise smooth planes of his face. “I prefer ‘Neil,’ your Highness.”

“Neil,” Andrew rolls the name on his tongue, as if tasting a fine wine, right before spitting it out. “If you call me your Highness one more time, I will knock your teeth out.”

“What the fu-” and that’s Matt again. 

Normally, Andrew is able to tune out the pests, but Boyd is very much trying his patience right now. Matt’s protest is cut off, presumably by Renee’s interference, but Andrew doesn’t care enough to look. Instead he raises an eyebrow in Neil’s direction.

“Andrew,” Neil tries again, a nauseating look of wary hope flickering in his eyes, before he steels himself. “So, what will it be?”

Andrew sighs. He is probably making a mistake, but when has Andrew ever been risk averse?

“Draw up the contract,” Andrew says. “Let’s see what you can do, Witch.”

“Neil,” Matt gasps, and there’s a gentle crunch underneath his footsteps. As if somehow a closer proximity to Neil will change his mind. “You can’t-”

“Please, Matt,” Neil says, a half whisper, but avoids Matt’s eyes. “I will be fine.”

Boyd sighs, still displeased, but the eerie cracking noise has stopped, at the least. 

“We’ll be right outside the door,” Dan says. Andrew’s sure that is more a threat directed at him, but he really couldn’t care less. Dan’s threats are, and always will be, meaningless.

“Dan, it’s not like he’s being left with the wolves.” Andrew almost smiles, but doesn’t have the heart for it. Instead he wraps his fingers around Neil’s throat. “Wolves would have already killed him by now.”

“You-” Dan half shouts. Andrew presumes Renee has interfered, but he doesn’t bother turning to look. He only has eyes for Neil.

“I’m not afraid of you, Andrew,” Neil says, as if he were reading a line from a script. Disinterested, yet forced politeness. Andrew wants to rip him open and see how he ticks.

 _Want_. 

What a foreign concept.

“Do it, Witch.” Andrew digs his fingers into Neil’s throat once more, a warning, before pulling back, and down to retrieve the keys to Neil’s handcuffs in his pocket. A heartbeat, and a breath later, Andrew removes the shackles chaining Neil to the wall. The Witch is free. 

Neil rubs at his wrist for a moment, then his eyes burn an even more brilliant electric blue. He’s chanting something in an undertone in another language, one that Andrew can’t place, as it sounds different from the language that Renee uses for her spells. His gaze is razor sharp, intent, until it is suddenly lost underneath bruised lilac eyelids.

Magic, Andrew knows, exists all around them. In the air, the water, the plant life, and the people; however, those not magically inclined cannot feel the interconnecting magic thrumming through all living creatures. Andrew could have gone his whole life without ever knowing that magic exists, if not for inevitable outside influences. Many of the public in the lesser populated areas of Columbia, in fact, do live that way. Magic has been outlawed in Columbia for at least two hundred years, which is just long enough for the non-magic users integrated with Witches and magic at every turn to have died off.

As if afraid of a whispered memory of the way life once was, the previous regime even went to great lengths to destroy literature and any depictions of magic. Fear based bullshit, as far as Andrew could tell, and yet, there had been a highly specific catalogue of magic within the vault that only the royal family had access to. It was only after overtaking Columbia that Andrew was able to research the limited scope of magical knowledge. He has learned a little from Renee as well, but he had little need to learn of magical spells he personally would have no ability to utilize.

Neil, however, somehow made even Andrew feel the magic swelling in the air. The longer Neil chanted, the heavier and thicker the magic swelled in the room. It felt akin to standing outside in a brewing thunderstorm; the air breathing, an inhale, then an exhale, all around them, as the ground rumbles, the heat condenses. Something deep inside Andrew rumbles, too, and it’s more than Andrew can say he has felt in recent years.

Neil finally opens his eyes and flickers his gaze to Andrew. Another inhale passes between the two, before Neil breaks the moment by bringing his own wrist to his mouth to bite hard enough to draw blood. Neil swallows a little of it, wincing in pain, before detaching. He still does not say a word to Andrew when he holds a gloved hand out. Presumably, he needs Andrew’s blood as well to bind the contract.

It strikes Andrew that this is a blood bond, of sorts, and he thinks, not for the first time, that Witches have very archaic methods. 

Andrew pulls his sleeve back and extends his wrist to Neil’s mouth. If Neil is surprised to see fresh blood staining Andrew’s wrist, he doesn’t show it in his outward expression. Instead, Neil drops his hand, and leans forward to capture Andrew’s wrist with his mouth. Neil’s hot breath could scald Andrew’s skin, but it is nothing compared to the weight of Neil’s tongue, his lips, as he gently sucks Andrew’s blood. Neil’s gaze burns into Andrew’s, so alluring Andrew can’t look away. Surely, this must be part of the magic, the curse, the way Neil’s tongue presses down on his wound, drawing more blood in. Touch has always been an enemy; complicit intimacy a stranger, and yet this is-

Dangerous.

A few seconds later, Neil pulls back and leans away, clinical in even this moment of intimacy. Neil closes his eyes as he finishes his chant and the magic in the air, if possible, swells even more. Andrew’s wrist burns and he sees a branded rhododendron tattoo in the spot where Neil drew his blood, a lingering blue hue just fading out. Once the glow completely vanishes, Neil slumps almost completely back against the wall once again. Neil exhales shakily as the thick magic in the air reduces until Andrew can no longer feel it.

With what appears to be great effort, Neil says, “The contract has been bound.”

Andrew crosses his arms. “Now what, Witch.”

“Now,” Neil swallows, his eyelids drooping closed. “We travel North to find the ingredients needed to cure you.”

Cure? Impossible.

“Which would be?” North from Columbia held mostly uncharted territory. Anyone who tried to conquer the land, wound up missing or dead. It had become something of a local legend, one the teenagers would taunt one another to test their courage. No one ever returned. What could Neil know?

Neil’s eyes are almost completed shut when he murmurs, “..the dragon’s scale.”

Then promptly passes out.

**

Pink hollyhocks were Tilda’s favorite flower. She’d demand outrageous amounts to fill every undecorated crevice of the castle, that the local merchants went to great lengths to find enough suppliers to meet with the demands. 

Cass always had hollyhocks adorn her kitchen table, too. Andrew ripped the petals off every one, until he didn’t have to, anymore. 

“Are you alright, Andrew?” Renee says, once the others have reluctantly left Andrew’s quarters. Dan and Matt have made their intention annoyingly transparent; they were going to accompany Neil on the journey to cure Andrew. 

Renee knows that Andrew doesn’t answer stupid questions, so he remains silent. 

Renee laughs softly at that. “Well, I don’t think Neil would have bound himself into a contract he doesn’t have confidence that he’d be able to fulfill. Seems like there is hope of lifting your curse, after all.”

Andrews waves a hand. “He has the look of a half dead man facing the guillotine. He would lie his way out of anything to save himself.”

Renee’s expression softens into not quite pity, but not quite sadness. It is the look of someone who very badly is trying to hide their emotions, but can’t control how it leaks out. “Well, he’ll be compelled to start researching, even if only as a show of good faith. It can’t hurt.”

Andrew shrugs. “We’ll see what he has to say when he wakes up.” 

How the liar will lie his way out of this one, remains to be seen. At the very least, it will alleviate some of the boredom that Andrew has felt since the Coup ended. 

“I will accompany you as well, Andrew.” Renee says, suddenly.

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “What of the Princess?”

Renee shakes her head. “No sign of her, yet. Perhaps I’ll find more clues if I join you in your travels North. It’s probably better that I occupy my mind with other matters, anyway. There is only so much pacing one can do to pass the time.”

“Renee,” Andrew interrupts. They share a look. Andrew has zero desire to monopolize Renee’s time on a lost cause. Dragon’s do not exist, and it would be stupid for Andrew to lay all his cards down on an untested, lying, rogue Witch. 

“Andrew. It’s worth investigating, is it not? Just because no one in recent memory has seen a dragon-”

“And no dragon has ever been recorded in recent, or not so recent history. I wouldn’t trust this Witch as far as I can throw him. It must be a trick, surely even you can see that.”

Now, Renee does look sad. “Matt and Dan trust him. I want to trust him as well.”

“Oh, Renee,” Andrew says. “You know better.”

And it would always come down to this; the ravine between the two of them cracking open once again. Renee rising up to safety; Andrew falling down to despair. 

There were moments when Andrew felt no one knew him as intimately as Renee did; no one could even come close. Renee grew up with her drug addled mother, if a woman who abandoned her child to the streets could even be labelled a mother. She survived by her own merits fighting for scraps of food on the streets, offered help from no one until a local bandit extended his hand. She soaked up the blood and violence shadowing the band of thieves, eventually even participating in the robberies, the deceit, the death. Reluctantly at first, and then, eventually, with growing responsibility. A young bird nurtured to fly blood soaked skies. 

Renee would have stayed as jaded as Andrew had it not been for an outside influence. One Stephanie Walker, a local priestess who happened to tend to Renee after a fight went sideways left Renee bleeding out in an alley, her found family of bandits nowhere in sight. Stephanie put a roof over her head, taught her about her powers, and taught her how to be a decent human being. Her kindness, her softness, was the result of that damn Priestess. Andrew, though, Andrew? He was left to rot in the darkness of that brothel until he eventually killed his way out. Renee had been the gentle push he needed to be decisive. 

But that was ancient history. There were moments when Andrew and Renee saw eye to eye and moved in tandem. If there is a threat, they would eliminate it. They bleed and cut violence without care. But in times like this, when influenced by other people, Renee’s resolve wavers. She softens. 

Andrew could never soften. If he diverted from his goals, if he made even a single allowance then-

_A.J, don’t you think you should service this esteemed customer? He has missed you, oh so much._

Never again.

So he would carry his mistrust, his doubts, close to his sleeves. 

“Maybe,” Renee finally says. “But it’s your only option.”

And so it was. 

***

White valerian petals are the easiest to grind up into dust. Wispy little flowers, imperceptible as individuals, but when grouped up, they create a cluster impossible to ignore in volume, in beauty. If you cut one off, though, it’s as good as dead, carried away by the wind, or a predator. 

Perish the thought. 

Andrew inhales the tobacco slowly, rolling the smoke in his mouth, as if weighing the taste on his tongue, before he slowly exhales. It’s a habit he picked up young, and hasn’t been able to kick yet. Kevin nags that it ruins his image. A stupid argument as no one sees him, so who gives a shit.

Some days, the impulse to be destructive manifests into inhaling something toxic. Usually, he can stifle the urge by beating something, or someone, up. Today, however, is full of irritants, none of which Andrew can lash out at. Well, he could, but it would detract from his objective. 

Andrew stands outside smoking next to a baleful Kevin. Matt and Dan are murmuring to one another nearby, with Renee occasionally adding to their conversation. If Andrew tried, he could probably listen in on the discussion; although, he really does not care at all what they have to say. So he doesn’t try. 

Nicky is practically straining himself to eavesdrop, however. 

It’s that moment when Neil decides to grace the group with his presence. His complexion is noticeable better, as if he hadn’t almost died on Andrew’s carpet hours prior. 

At the sight of Neil, Nicky lets out a low whistle. He can barely contain himself from eyeing Neil up and down. Andrew clenches his fist in response.

“Okay, kids,” Nicky says, breaking out into a smile that is entirely unconvincing. “Let’s head out into the great unknown! Hearts laid bare, feet to the ground, and the desire for adventure fueling our progress. I’m hoping it will be a bonding experience for all of us, really. I mean it would-”

“Why,” Neil interjects, calm as the air before a storm. “Are you coming, Nicky?”

Nicky gasps and clutches at the front of his shirt, near his heart. “Neil, come on! We’re friends, aren’t we? How could I leave you all to journey the great outdoors alone? It wouldn’t be very cousinly of me, either way. And besides, you-”

“Nicky,” Andrew says, and Nicky immediately closes his mouth with an audible snap. Then, Andrew turns to Neil. “He can be used as bait.”

“Hey!” Nicky’s outrage is ignored.

Neil grimaces, but doesn’t argue. Maybe he thinks it isn’t worth the conversation. Instead, he jerks his head towards Kevin. “What about him? I know he won’t contribute anything meaningful.”

Kevin’s face goes red in anger and he takes a step towards Neil, hand reaching for his sword. Before his actions manifest into a legitimate threat, Renee steps between the two with a gentle hand to Kevin’s shoulder. 

“The head knight always accompanies royalty,” Andrew says with absolutely no feeling behind the words. “Or so Kevin would say. If he falls behind, just leave him. He’d probably live.”

Kevin makes another noise of anger, but cuts himself off, as if suddenly remembering his position. 

“Come on, Neil! The more the merrier! Besides, Matt and Dan are coming along with you, so fair’s fair right?” Nicky cheers, and reaches to grab Neil’s shoulder. 

Neil sidesteps Nicky’s grasp. “Can you please focus?”

Matt laughs, stretching his arms behind his head. Without a care in the world. “Ok, Neil. What’s the plan?”

“We go North,” Neil says, points North, and takes off in that direction without another word.

Dan laughs and bumps hips with Matt. “You heard the boss.”

Matt snorts and straightens. “Aye, aye, Captain.” 

They both make after Neil.

Andrew can practically hear Kevin’s impatience. As much as Kevin’s general displeasure amuses Andrew, he really doesn’t want to listen to Kevin complain for the entirety of the journey. So he, too, makes off after Neil, Nicky and Kevin not too far behind him. 

It would be the first time Andrew has left the castle grounds since his ascension to the throne. Even prior to that, he had never left the town he grew up in. Perhaps, a normal human would feel curiosity, or even fear at the prospect of venturing out into a vast land of unknown. Andrew, however, does not. He merely follows the footsteps in front of him, and tries to stay present in the moment. 

His greatest enemy after all, lives deep inside him. A monster howling to break free.

They walk for a while in silence, almost mindlessly following Neil’s careless direction. Matt and Dan seem to have complete faith in Neil and are content to follow Neil’s leadership. Interesting, how Neil is able to inspire such blind loyalty. Either he is very charismatic, a trait Andrew has yet to see, or Matt and Dan are considerably naive. More believable.

Andrew, however, thinks it is suspicious that he never once checks a map. Unless he is magically inclined towards going in the right direction, which Andrew does not think is possible. 

“So, how long, exactly, are we expected to head North,” Nicky says, and attempts to impersonate Neil’s somber tone. “A guy’s gotta rest, you know.”

“Nicky, we’ve barely left the castle walls!” Dan says, exasperated. 

Nicky winces. “I’m just joking, yeesh. Although, it would be nice to have an idea of how far we are expected to walk North for.”

Neil stops abruptly mid-stride. Suddenly, he darts off the path and behind a tree. 

“Hide,” Neil hisses.

It’s barely above a whisper, and yet they all hear him and obey. Andrew ends up in the tree directly next to Neil. He watches as Neil trains his intense gaze forward, down the path that leads up into the mountains. 

“Um, Neil. What exactly are we-” Nicky says, nervously shuffling from just out of sight.

“Quiet,” Neil hisses, pressing impossibly closer to the tree he has ducked behind. Andrew stills as well and listens; the birds crow overhead, the branches rustle in the wind, and yet, Andrew can hear nothing out of the ordinary. He looks to Renee, who has her palms pressed against the rock she has hidden behind in an eerie imitation of Neil’s pose. She meets his gaze and minutely shakes her head. So she, too, cannot sense whatever it is that Neil does. Curious.

“Something’s coming. I hear so many footsteps,” Neil stutters mid sentence, then exhales audibly. He stands slowly, still obscured behind the tree, and reaches for his sword at his belt. What a magic user who is untrained in physical fighting intends to do with a sword, Andrew doesn’t know. Yet, Neil clutches at the hilt like a lifeline. “No. I know this sound. Werespiders.”

“What the fuck are-” and that’s Nicky, of course, unable to stay silent longer than thirty seconds. But before he can finish, Neil moves. And he’s fast, alarmingly so. There and yet gone in the time it takes Andrew to blink. Andrew would think it were teleportation, but suddenly, he sees Neil has merely run around the tree to meet the enemy head on.

The enemy, in this case, were giant fucking spiders with bodies the length of Andrew’s arm and teeth sharp enough to rival that of a wolf’s, rapidly descending the mountain in front of them. Well, fuck.

He feels the air condense around them as Dan summons her powers from her station a couple of yards away. Nearby, the ground shakes erratically, no doubt an indication that Boyd is stomping around unleashing his own powers. 

Andrew looks to Kevin and jerks his head in a clear order for Kevin to prove his worth and join the frey. Andrew doesn’t exactly need protecting, yet Kevin insists on standing by his side, regardless. This time, however, Kevin needs no extra prodding. He nods and bursts from the brush, sword already drawn and flaming, as he launches a fire attack to clear a path forward. 

The flames catch some of the creatures, but others dodge out of the way at the last second. Agile and smart. Too smart, for a fucking spider. Something doesn’t feel right.

Andrew reaches for the throwing knives sheathed on his forearm and once he sees the first Werespider in range, throws one. He connects on the first throw right in the head and the creature goes down with an eardrum bursting scream. Andrew throws another two knives at the two next closest Werespiders and they go down as well.

Andrew moves forward to collect his knives and nearly collides with Neil. 

“Andrew,” Neil says. His sword is bloodied, so he must have killed some Werespiders. He tucks something into his bag, too quickly for Andrew to see clearly. Spoils of the fight? “It’s unusual for Werespiders to move as a collective like this. There must be a Witch nearby either adept at controlling creatures or…”

Andrew wipes the blood of his dagger off on the nearby brush. “Or?”

Neil looks at Andrew, his eyes sparking blue. “Or adept at creating them. If that’s the case, we will be here forever.”

“So we kill the Witch.”

Neil freezes his motions for a moment before, quick as lighting, he throws his sword directly into the head of a Werespider poised to lunge at Andrew. Neil chants something and the sword dislodges itself from the creature’s head and returns to his hand like nothing. 

Andrew glares at Neil. “Is there no end to your tricks, Witch?”

Neil’s mouth upticks to what Andrew has realized is Neil’s version of a grin. “It’s a fairly easy spell I’ve carved into my sword. For a price, I could do the same to your throwing knives. There’s also one to evaporate the bodily fluids of the creatures your blade slices.”

Neil lifts his sword to show that the Werespider blood has mostly evaporated from his sword. Andrew rolls his eyes in response. How convenient it seems to have magic spells to spare. 

“Smartass.”

At that, Neil’s expression shifts to something closer to genuine amusement. “The one and only.”

Back to the subject at hand. “The Witch?”

Neil tilts his head. “I know a tracking spell, but it takes time and materials to put together. Tracking isn’t exactly my forte.”

“No time to learn in between the running and lying?”

“No,” Neil says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. A nervous habit. 

“Nicky,” Andrew says, breaking eye contact from Neil to look to the top of one of the nearby trees. He had seen Nicky’s arrows scattered around the area, so Nicky can’t be too far off. He hates hand to hand combat, but loves the drama of a fight, so he tends to stay far, but not too far, from the action of it all. 

The silence in response only further proves Andrew’s case. He picks up a nearby rock and throws it to the top of the tree Nicky is most likely hiding in. 

“Ow...” Bullseye. 

“Nicky can track the Caster.” Andrew says as he throws another dagger into the head of a Werespider just behind Neil. Neil shifts but doesn’t look behind him. 

Nicky shoots a couple more arrows to deter the oncoming spiders, and then jumps down from his perch to stand an arm’s width away from Andrew.

Lazily, Nicky raises his hand in a mock salute. “Aye, Sir. Who are we looking for?”

Andrew jerks his head to Neil and throws another dagger at a Werespider behind Nicky. He catches the monster in two of its beady little eyes. 

Neil rolls his eyes. “Someone is controlling the Werespiders. We need to find the Caster and stop them if we have any hope of stopping this onslaught.”

“Well, I’m not sure how I can-” The anxiety is clear in Nicky’s tone as he stumbles his way through his sentence. Right, Nicky thinks Andrew doesn’t know that he is a magic user. 

“Nicky,” Andrew says, bored. “Use your magic.”

Nicky’s mouth hangs open in surprise. His expression screams that he wants to deny the accusation, but he doesn’t. Perhaps he thinks Andrew won’t listen to whatever he has to say.

Why are words so tiring? 

“If I wanted you executed, you would have been a long time ago.” Andrew throws his second to last dagger and kills another Werespider. “Today, Nicky.”

“Yes, Sir.” Nicky salutes. 

Nicky goes to the nearest deceased Werespider and makes a show of exactly how disgusting he thinks the Spiders are with his jerky movements and reluctance to fully touch the creature. Fortunately, he has the sense to not vocalize this disgust. Nicky chants something under his breath, the Werespider glowing yellow in response. After a minute, the Spider flashes a brilliant yellow, and then explodes, guts and slime flying all over Nicky.

Nicky screams and falls on his ass. 

“I am never doing that again!” Nicky practically screeches, with an emphasis on the word ‘never,’ and quickly scrambles back to his feet. 

“Well?” Neil is all business. He throws his sword out, presumably at another spider. By his grimace, he must have missed. The sword levitates back to his hand.

“Well, long story short these spiders are being controlled by a- what’s the word?” Nicky scratches his head. “Like, web, of some sort? It got disconnected when the Werespider died, but, as with all magic, you can’t completely eliminate the magical trail. I traced it back to the start of the thread, which should be where the caster is.”

Andrew pulls three of his daggers out of the nearby Werespider carcasses. 

“Lead the way,” Neil says, clutching his sword.

***

Skunk cabbage burns into your nostrils, stings your eyes. They grow in the midst of winter, red speckled husks, green lumpy core, and destroy all budding growth around them. Rotting decay would be preferable to crunching a skunk cabbage underfoot. Andrew would never forget the smell.

“You’re sure this is the place, Nicky?” Matt doesn’t try to mask his disbelief as they approach a cave nestled just at the base of the mountains. They had lost count of the number of Werespiders they killed to make it to the Caster’s lair, but most of them were well dirtied by blood. 

“Yes,” Nicky says, curtly. Even Nicky can’t summon enough energy for false cheeriness. 

“I’ll go in alone,” Neil says. He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond and marches to the front entrance. 

Matt grabs at Neil’s sleeve to haul him to a stop before he makes it out of the brush. “Not alone, you’re not. Plus through the front entrance? Neil.”

“I’ll be fine.” Neil tries to shake off Matt’s grip, but fails.

“Stupid. You are just asking to be killed,” Kevin says. “It’d be more efficient to draw the enemy out. I could fire my flames into the cave and burn them out.”

“No.” Neil’s tone is harsh, unforgiving. “You’ll end up burning potential evidence! Or worse, murdering the Caster. Then we really won’t get any answers.”

“Evidence?” Kevin scoffs. “What exactly are you expecting to find, Nathaniel?”

Neil barely hides his flinch. Anger is quick to follow on its heels and Neil whirls to face Kevin. “Nothing, Number Two. Nothing at all.”

Kevin pales, any retort he had queued up dying on his tongue, his hand moving on its own to block his face. The number two magically scarred to his cheek is a painful, permanent reminder of his previous subservience, his captors. Any fight he had, too, dissolves like sugar in water. Even now, he is apparently too cowardly to strike back. 

“Fine. Andrew and I will enter the cave,” Neil says, leaving no room for argument. “Kevin will wait near the entrance. Matt and Dan will take opposite sides of the cave if direct interference is necessary. Renee and Nicky will stay here in case the enemy slips by. Satisfied?”

Dan and Matt do not verbally respond, but the loaded look they exchange, conversing in the strange silent way they have honed through years of companionship, says all that needs to be said. Neil is a fraying seam on an otherwise well tailored suit. 

“It’s better,” Matt admits. “But you know you can lean on us, Neil. You don’t always have to do everything alone.”

Neil nods, but his expression is shuttered. 

Andrew cannot take the conversations anymore, so he strides forward to the cave. The soft footsteps behind him indicate that Neil is following along without complaint. Andrew doesn’t bother to look back to check.

The cave is relatively nondescript. It looks naturally made, rather than made from man’s desperation, or as part of some convoluted trap. Andrew slows the further in he gets, the darker it gets. He is nearly at a standstill when Neil finally snaps his fingers and summons a candle. 

Andrew glares at him to say, you could have done that this entire time?

Neil just shrugs in response. 

When the tunnel opens up, they see it.

There is an array painted in blood on the ground, still pulsing. Almost as if it were alive. In the center, glowing red, lay the makings of a creature. No, it is the beginnings of a Werespider, shaking as its limbs form, its fur grows. It’s fascinating to see the accelerated evolution of a creature right in front of their eyes. That alone would be enough to maintain interest, and yet.

Just behind the array, is a person, presumably the Caster, bound and bagged. 

Neil’s sharp intake of breath reveals more than he intended: familiarity.

“No.” Neil runs over to the Caster, nearly stepping into the array in his haste, and falls to his knees. “No.”

Neil’s hands shake as he clumsily removes the knot from the bag over the Caster’s head, and gently, slowly, removes the bag. The Caster’s eyes have been gouged out, his face a mess of blood, tears, and dirt. His tongue has been cut. 

Neil wipes a bit at the Caster’s face, succeeding only in further rubbing the dirt into it. Neil is silent for a moment more, and then, suddenly, he lashes out and punches at the wall, probably harder than he intended. 

To his credit, Neil doesn’t yell out in pain or in any way show what he’s feeling. He’s gone back to being cold and calculating, rather than frantic and cagey.

Interesting. Truly, a puzzle worth cracking open the longer Andrew spends time with him. Probably unwise to get too attached, though. These kinds of puzzles tend to bite back if tampered with too much.

“A friend?” Andrew walks to see the Caster for himself.

“No.” Neil is calm, almost too calm. “A warning.”

“Of?”

“It’s Riko. He must have sent this Witch after me, but something went wrong. Maybe he didn’t directly follow an order or maybe he got cold feet. Either way, he was dealt with swiftly. This array has been eating at his life force to force create the Werespiders.”

Neil checks the Caster’s pulse and then shakes his head. “Someone else must have been controlling them. This Witch is effectively dead now.”

After a moment, Neil removes his glove.

“What are you going to do, Neil.” Andrew has an educated guess, so he doesn’t frame it as a question. He is more curious of Neil’s expression as he answers, rather than the words he will choose to say. Neil’s words can’t be trusted, but sometimes, his expressions give him away. 

“Put him out of his misery.” Neil presses his hand to the Witch, and, again, Andrew watches as skin and bone and blood melts into ash under Neil’s seemingly innocuous touch. 

When there is nothing left, Neil exhales shakily and puts his glove back on. 

The glow from the array has completely gone out. The Werespider taking shape in the center melts into blood and fur, dead; without a sound, without a breath.

If it bothers Neil, he doesn’t show it. He stands, swaying only slightly and turns to Andrew. Neil pulls at the end of his glove, catching the loose thread. “Are you afraid?”

“Of you?” Andrew takes a step forward.

“Of monsters.” 

“You overestimate yourself.” Andrew takes another step forward, his boots nearly brushing against Neil’s. 

“Oh?” That startles a grin from Neil. “Excuse me, then.”

“No.” Andrew slams his palm into the wall, directly cutting off Neil’s escape route. They aren’t touching anywhere, and yet. “Let’s trade.”

To Neil’s credit, he doesn’t flinch at Andrew’s abrupt action or sudden demand. Instead he faces Andrew head on. “Trade? What do I have that you could possibly want? All I own lies in this bag.”

Andrew can hear Neil pat the worn bag he always hides away underneath his cloak, but doesn’t look towards the sound. 

“I want the truth, for once.” Andrew pauses, and tilts his head. “A truth for a truth.”

Neil squints his suspicion. “You won’t like what I ask.”

“I don’t like you. It will hardly matter what you ask.”

Neil lets out a short exhalation that one might pass off as a laugh, but falls flat. Andrew knows better. “Ok. I don’t have anything interesting to say, so, I suppose it won’t hurt.”

Another lie. Neil just can’t help himself. 

“Ask away,” Neil says, and crosses his arms.

Neil probably thinks Andrew will ask about his past, or what he’s so hell bent on running from, really. “Who did you think that Caster was?”

Several expressions cross Neil’s face at once. Some too unreadable to decipher, but the main ones being surprise and then guilt. 

“No-” Neil bites his lip. He tips his head up and speaks to the ceiling. “Another one of Riko’s pets. He helped me escape and I thought that he had been killed for it. I shouldn’t care, really, we barely know each other. But, I still feel-”

“Human?” Andrew retracts his hand and takes a step back. 

Neil tilts his head down to look at Andrew. His eyes flash blue. “Responsible.”

Andrew nods, once. It doesn’t feel like a lie, and yet it doesn’t feel like the full truth. Perhaps a feeling of responsibility had gripped Neil, in that moment, when he locked eyes with the casualty of his actions. 

Andrew wants to peek into his mind, only for a moment, and watch all the gears turn.

Want. No. Andrew doesn’t want anything. This is merely a momentary distraction from an otherwise dreary walk to the end of his life. 

After a moment where Neil seems to gather his thoughts, he says, “What’s with Kevin?”

Of all the things for Neil to ask Andrew about, Kevin doesn’t exactly seem like a priority. Seems they are both testing the waters. 

“Fate,” Andrew says, derisively, “brought us together. A stray brave enough to run away from Riko, but not brave enough to do much else. I happened upon him when he was freshly bruised and broken. It must have been after he had just escaped from Riko. We have a contract, that is all.”

Neil chews on that and nods, apparently satisfied for now. But then. “Can you hold on to something for me?”

A request? “Depends what it is.”

Neil rolls his eyes as he digs through his bag. “Nothing bad. It could be useful, even.”

Neil produces a red stained glass vial. No, not stained. Full of something red. Blood?

“My blood is dangerous, so don’t touch it directly.” Nail holds the vial out, but waits for Andrew to take it, instead of forcing it on him. “But it’s also useful in difficult situations. 

“I don’t need your protection.”

“I know. But I need someone else to hold onto this for me, just in case.” Neil’s expression goes dark, just for a moment, before flattening out, as if he’s pulled a sheet taut. “Can’t keep all my cards in my own hands.”

Andrew holds his hand out, palm up. His sleeve slips down, reveals the red lillies that hide in his skin, in his blood. If Neil notices, he doesn’t comment. Instead he places the vial in Andrew’s hand, careful not to make direct contact with Andrew’s skin, or even his clothes. 

Andrew clenches his fist around the vial and shoves it into his front pocket. Then he jerks his head towards the direction of the cave’s entrance. Best to get back before any of Neil’s loyalists presume Andrew murdered him in cold blood. 

Neil doesn’t need any more prompting, and they walk towards the exit.

The conversation dies as if it had never taken place at all. The only sounds that fill the cave are their gentle footfalls, rustling bats, and Andrew coughing blood against his sleeve. It pairs well with the growing red lilies kissing his wrists. 

There’s not much to say about that, either.

***

White anemones roll their black pupils at passersby; watching, anticipating. It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff, one foot off, waiting for a gust of wind strong enough to tip the balance. 

Andrew would hesitate only a moment before ripping them out of the ground, roots and all. He couldn’t stand the thought of being seen, growing up. 

And then, it didn’t matter.

The sky darkens as quickly as black ink stains a flimsy film of paper. Eventually, they must stop and take shelter for the night, or else fall prey to whatever creatures haunt the shadows. They’ve only made it a little way up the mountain, exhausted from their fight and from the nonstop travel. 

Andrew sits leaning against a tree far away to maintain an eye on everyone’s movements, but close enough to catch the chatter that passes amongst them. 

“Neil, seriously, are you going to give us any more information?” Nicky is lounging against a tree of his own, as close to Neil as he can manage. Neil ignores his presence entirely, and instead busies himself with writing in a notebook usually hidden in his bag. 

“Leave him be.” Matt of course comes to Neil’s defense. A lap dog with a strange attachment. What has Neil done to inspire such loyalty?

“Sir Matt, I, of course, mean no disrespect. It is an innocent question, so no need to jump down my throat, not when there are much better means of passing the time.” Nicky taps his chin with one finger. “You cannot honestly say that you are not curious. We are looking for a Dragon! A creature of myth that no one in the known world has even seen!”

“...I am curious. But Neil will tell us when the time is right. No need to dwell on the details.” Matt truly could be a monk instead of a knight. 

“Ha, you behave like a naive maiden. What is with the blind trust?” Nicky laughs.

“Of course I trust Neil. He saved my life.” Matt says, calm as water from a gentle pond. 

That seems to startle the laughter from Nicky. “What?! Sir Matt, do tell! How did Neil save a noble knight such as yourself?”

“Nicky.” Dan has returned from collecting firewood in time to catch Nicky’s goading. “Watch your tongue.”

“Ah, Captain, I mean no disrespect. I just wish to hear a heroic tale about our Neil!”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Neil closes his notebook, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders snap away. It’s strange to watch Neil put on his tailored mask as he turns to face the group. Yet no one says anything about it. No one notices. “I was in the right place at the right time, is all.”

“Neil,” Dan admonishes as she sets some more wood down on the fire. She takes her place huddled against Sir Matt. It appears the rumors of their courtship were not unfounded. “You noticed the curse mark placed on Matt and lifted it before it killed him! That’s not something all Witches can catch. It was on Matt’s body, and even he didn’t notice!”

Matt scratches the back of his head and leans into Dan. “I’ve never been good at... skilled magic. Too much memorization. I much prefer the physicality of knighthood.”

“Hey.” Dan gently punches Matt’s shoulder. “Don’t say that. Also, skilled magic? That is very archaic terminology, Sir Matt.”

“Skilled magic?” The question in Neil’s voice is surprising. Even a non-magic user like Andrew has a basic understanding of the divide in magic.

“What?” Nicky laughs. “Neil, you’re joking, right?”

“Forget I asked.” Neil tucks one leg up to his chest and wraps an arm around it.

“No, no, Neil. Oh, Neil.” Nicky scoots closer to Neil. Neil tilts away. “No, I’m not making fun of you, I swear! I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Unskilled magic,” Dan says loudly, effectively drowning out Nicky’s rambling, “is another way of separating elemental magic from spelled magic. The first is your inherent magical ability, usually elemental in nature. Jaded Witches hundreds of years ago deemed the elemental abilities as ‘unskilled’ because you don’t classically train these abilities. Skilled magic is a broad term to categorize other sections of magic involving spellwork or non-inherent magical practices. Dispelling curses is not an inherent elemental ability, but rather a magical practice that requires acquiring knowledge of magical curses and the ways to dispel said curses. In other words, a learned ability.”

Neil nods, but the furrow in his brows is still present. 

“There are different realms of magic,” Renee says. Neil flinches, slightly, at the sound of her voice. Renee has always done well to blend into the background, so he might not have noticed her silently watching. “Divination, for example, is where the natural born Seers reside. But there are spells non-seers can learn from the school of Divination as well. Not as powerful, mind you, but effective nonetheless.” 

This, Neil seems to understand. For a moment, his expression darkens, his eyes glazed, as if he is seeing something else, or reliving an unpleasant memory. It clears again a moment later. “I see.”

Renee hasn’t missed the shift in Neil’s mood, but, wisely, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she goes back to the medicinal salve she is no doubt preparing for Andrew to take once they are alone. 

“Ok, Neil. Enough avoiding the subject!” Nicky kicks his feet out and points to Neil. “The dragons?”

Neil doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “What about them?”

Nicky gives Neil a look that seems to say is this kid serious? “Neil. Details.”

Neil looks like he wants to feign innocence, and that he, probably, would take pleasure from doing so. Instead, he sighs and says, “There’s not much to say. Dragon scales are able to cure pretty much any ailment, so I believe a simple brewed potion of Dragon scale will suffice. I’ve seen a Dragon scale only once before, but I know it was legitimate and the effects were, well, miraculous. I’ve heard that there is a nesting area tucked away on Helios mountain; although, no one has been anywhere near there due to the dangerous creatures that guard the entrance.”

“Dangerous creatures? The- Neil, you didn’t think to, I don’t know, warn us about that?” Nicky sputters and recoils away from Neil. 

“Well, if you go straight there, it’s dangerous. That’s why we’re going North and entering from a more indirect direction.”

“Indirect?” Matt pipes up, looking more and more enthusiastic as Neil continues to explain. “You know, Neil, I think we can handle a couple of monsters, no problem at all. You have the Foxhole Court’s finest by your side. But what do you mean by indirect?”

Neil outlines a circle in the air with his finger. “A portal.”

“What?!” Dan exclaims. “Neil, what? Is something like that even possible?”

“Yes.” Kevin has been silent until now, acting disinterested in the trivial conversations. Clearly he has been listening intently. “Forbidden magic.”

“Neil.” Renee stops grinding the herbs in her mortar, and turns her full attention to Neil. “Are you sure that-”

“No.” Neil glances between Renee and Kevin, frowning. “I’m not creating a portal. I don’t know how to do something like that. There is a portal already there or so I’ve heard.”

Kevin scowls. “How could you possibly know that? I’m sure your ‘sources’ have told you whatever you want to hear, but you must take any information gained with a degree of wariness.” His tone implies that such a fact should be obvious to anyone with a functioning brain.

Neil, in turn, scowls back at Kevin. “Well, Kevin, oh great knight of Columbia. I’ve seen the Portal, so I know it’s there.” Neil pauses for effect, and then exhales sharply. “So many questions. This is why I didn’t want to say anything.” 

“How could you have possibly seen the Portal.” Oh, Kevin is really working himself up. The animosity between the two truly is interesting. Kevin is not likeable, but Neil really seems to hate him. “You’ve not been away from the Nest for years until now. How could you have-”

“Dont,” Neil cuts him off sharply, jarring loud in conjunction with his normally rather meek tone, “presume to know where I have been. You don’t know me, Kevin. I’ve seen the Portal through one of the Seer’s projections at the Nest. Once upon a time Riko had an interest in Helios Mountain, but every warrior he sent to investigate died on the journey.”

“And you want us to risk our lives and trust that you aren’t leading us to our deaths?” Kevin is practically yelling now, the air crackling with heat. 

“Sir Kevin!” Matt raises his voice. “There is no need to get aggressive. Do not ignite your flame here or we will have to intervene on Neil’s behalf.”

Kevin cuts a cold look to Matt and seems poised to argue.

“Kevin,” Andrew says. “Enough.”

Kevin bites back his reply. Shaking, he stands and leaves. Deciding to patrol the area, no doubt. His anxious ticks extend even here, it would seem. 

Neil visibly swallows his anger. Again compartmentalizing how he feels and what he decides to show. “No one is going to die. No one else needs to even enter the Portal, if they are afraid. Honestly, you can all turn back here, if you wish. I can gather the supplies myself.”

“Neil, I vow on my knight’s oath to accompany you no matter the dangers that we may face. I owe my life to you, and would never turn my back on a request. I would even-” Matt says, eyes practically glowing with his sincerity. Andrew wants to vomit at the sight of it. 

“Neil,” Dan interjects, with a gentle hand on Matt’s knee. A subtle he gets the idea, Matt passing unspoken, yet understood, between them. “We aren’t going to abandon you.”

“Beats waiting around in the stuffy castle,” Nicky jokes, but his heart isn’t in it. He is clearly worried about the danger Kevin mentioned.

Renee studies Andrew and then Neil. She doesn’t outwardly exclaim her support, but the intention is there. 

“You have my gratitude,” Neil says stiffly. Clearly he is not used to a support system of any kind. “We should probably get some rest. We still have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow, and most of the terrain is rough. Or so I’ve heard.”

Truly, Neil has all the most detailed information. Interesting, for someone allegedly trapped inside the Raven’s Nest at Evermore, under the watchful eye of one Prince Riko, to have amassed such knowledge. 

Nicky groans, but doesn’t say anything to object. They settle in after deciding a schedule for keeping watch. No one has sensed any magical creatures lurking about, but one can never be too careful.

Renee passes Andrew the salve she made with stern instructions to apply and take one pill by mouth before the night ends. 

The breeze rustles the leaves, the moon hangs high in the sky, and Andrew keeps watch over the group for as long as he can. Silent, still, anticipating. 

There are eyes in the forest. Watching.

Waiting.

***

Red petunias rest on Drake’s grave every year; the same number, the same oversized green vase with the crack in its base. Sometimes, Andrew would stick his fingers in the petunia’s face, try to wipe the blood away, so maybe, just maybe, everything could go back to the way it was.

Before he destroyed Cass’ life and absolved his own. 

But the red never washed out; the past could not be erased.

Sometimes, Andrew can still smell the blood underneath his fingernails

If death had a sound, Andrew imagines it would sound like chimes rattling in the wind. Calming and yet eerily enchanting; a noise that cups your cheeks and pulls you into its embrace. Andrew feels the pull every time his wrist burns. He knows his death won’t be painless, or pretty. It won’t even be something that is mourned or reviled; he will just be here one moment, and then gone the next. 

Andrew is fine with that.

However, he has a contract to uphold and a curiosity to satisfy. He will not die now, here, until these obligations have been fulfilled. 

Ironically enough, he wakes to the sound of nothing at all. It might have been an animal snapping a branch underfoot, or an owl rustling in the leaves. It might have been an instinct for preservation he had almost completely snuffed out. 

When he wakes, he sees the gentle glow of disgusting floating jellyfish steadily descending upon their camp, eerily silent as they fly in. Well, fuck.

A glance around camp is enough for Andrew to assess that he is the only one awake, whomever was supposed to be patrolling either knocked out or out of earshot. Andrew pulls one of his throwing knives out and launches it at where he presumes Neil is sleeping. It lands a few centimeters from his ear, but it’s enough.

Neil wakes, flinching hard away from Andrew’s knife and looks around, bracing for the enemy. He meets Andrew’s eyes first, and then, presumably, he sees the floating monsters. His mouth goes slack in shock, but then it’s all business, his eyes glowing blue. 

Will o’ wisps, Neil mouths and points at the jellyfish once again. Andrew doesn’t know what the fuck that means. 

Neil pulls one glove off and Andrew sees that Neil’s palms are bloody and raw. Neil waves his hand in a circle, a bloom of red magic appearing in its wake. Blood magic. 

Neil scribbles obscure runes on the inside of the circle with his bleeding hand, his eyes flash blue, and then the air pulses. 

Rattling bones crack in the distance; the jellyfish, Will o’ wisps, pulse in response. 

Whatever the fuck Neil did seems to have worked, as the Will o’ Wisps dare not approach any closer. Neil stands and makes his way towards Andrew, subtly putting his glove back on. 

Andrew rises as Neil approaches, but Neil’s destination isn’t Andrew; it’s Renee. She is still asleep to Andrew’s left, showing no signs of being roused. Strange, for her. Normally she has keen senses.

Neil crouches in front of Renee, and, after a moment, shakes his head. He straightens and turns to Andrew. 

“The Will o’ Wisps are more like spiritual lanterns than any real threat, but they are attracted to powerful magic. There must be another creature nearby who cast the sleeping spell. The others will not wake for several hours, or until we eliminate the creature.” Neil looks to the Will o’ Wisps once and then back to Andrew. “It should’ve affected you, too.”

“Yet here I stand.” Andrew is immune to most sleeping potions, by now. A skill he unwilling honed. Andrew shakes his head at the looming memory, and focuses back on Neil, who is ever so patiently waiting for his response. “As do you. Curious, isn’t it?”

Neil huffs what could be considered a laugh, but doesn’t quite make it. Like he never learned how. “Not so. Let’s just say, most sleeping spells don’t work on me. Had to stay sharp.”

“Because of Riko?” Andrew asks. Neil seems to be on the cusp of revealing something he doesn’t want to. Andrew moves to stand in front of Neil and reaches out to cup his chin. 

Neil doesn’t flinch at the touch, his expression as placid as ever. “Are you taking a turn?” 

“If I have to. Yes.”

“No.” Neil crosses one arm over his chest, his hand cupping his arm. “Not Riko. I was on the run before his lackeys caught me. You can never be too careful. Best to be prepared for a potential attack, than dead because of one.”

Neil’s eyes are a little glazed as he says it, almost as if he were repeating words said to him. No, not repeating; remembering what someone had instructed him. 

A moment passes between them, a breath, and Andrew can almost-

“Sleeping potions don’t affect me anymore,” Andrew says instead, clutching Neil’s chin even tighter. Neil doesn’t look pained by the action. He doesn’t look like anything at all. “No matter how strong the drug, its effects will begin to wear off, if overused.”

Neil swallows. “I-”

Bones rattle, like a spine cracking over and over again. The sound achingly loud, and close, maybe only a couple of feet away. Neil and Andrew break apart at the sound. 

Andrew unsheathes a throwing knife; Neil pulls his sword out, eyes glowing blue.

Andrew blinks and the creature is in front of him, stopped only by whatever magic Neil cast before- a barrier, of some kind. The creature looks almost as if it is wearing a mask with a carved face on it, completely white with a bent spine, floating with the Will o’ Wisps.

“Faceless,” Neil murmurs, and sheaths his sword. “Physical attacks won’t work. The barrier won’t hold for much longer at this rate; it’s fighting against me.”

“I could stab Kevin. That would wake him up,” Andrew says, deadpan.

“It might.” Neil acts as though he’s considering it. “No, give me one of your knives.”

Wordlessly, Andrew passes one over, offering the blade instead of the hilt. If Neil notices he doesn’t comment. Instead, he pulls a glove off and smears the knife’s blade in his blood. He chants something, too soft for Andrew to catch. The air around him changes, becomes thick, somehow, swelling with the force of Neil’s magic. 

The creature, Faceless, lets out an eardrum bursting scream, its mask-like face cracking open to reveal blood drenched fangs. It bites uselessly against the air, or, more accurately, against Neil’s barrier. Sparks fly, but the creature still does not advance.

For now.

“Take this by the hilt and throw it at the Faceless,” Neil pants as he offers the knife back to Andrew, the knife’s blade still embedded in his bleeding palm. “Don’t touch my blood. It will kill you.”

Andrew doesn’t need to be told twice. The knife’s hilt only lingers in his hand for a moment, before it is thrown right into the creature’s head, splitting it’s mask in half, pieces of it scattering away. The creature screams, falling back, spine cracking horrendously. 

Or so they think. The Faceless in front of them shatters. Or rather, the image of the Faceless in front of them dispels. The eerie cracking an indication that it is still near, but they just can’t see it.

“Fuck.” Neil is chanting something under his breath again, this magic swelling and condensing even more thickly in the air. Andrew almost chokes on the weight of it. And then he does, blood splattering out of his mouth before he has time to hide it. For all the times for the curse to act up, of course it would be now. How inconvenient.

Andrew falls to a knee, his hand slamming into the ground in a desperate attempt to steady himself. Andrew takes one breath and then another. His wrist throbs with each shaky inhale; he’d cut the damn thing off, if he could steady enough to grab his knife, or Neil’s sword, or-

“Andrew?” Neil says, but the magic in the air doesn’t quell. “Andrew, are you there?”

“Shut up,” Andrew grunts. With effort, he rises, his vision flickering in and out. He must not go down here. Not yet. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard that Faceless have some Divination realm abilities, more specifically in illusions, but I’ve never encountered one before.” Neil sounds out of breath. “Give me another knife.”

Wordlessly, Andrew hands one over and again and Neil slicks the blade up with his own blood. 

“Wait for my signal, and then throw it exactly where I tell you. It is hiding, but it will try to charge through the barrier again.”

Andrew grabs the knife’s hilt and holds it carefully away from him. He closes his eyes, in an attempt to stave off a wave of nausea. 

Seconds bleed into minutes of baited breath, pins and needles. Neil can probably feel the air move around him. Andrew feels nothing.

Andrew hears when the creature slams into the barrier, its shrieking somehow worse and closer. He opens his eyes to see its face pressed almost up against him.

At the same time, Neil is screaming something, but Andrew can barely hear it. It’s mindless instinct that guides him forward, knife in front, as he jumps on the Faceless. He hits the mark, right in the creature’s mask, effectively splitting it in two. Or so, he thinks. It’s there one minute and gone the next and Andrew is hurtling towards the ground, his body slamming into the dirt with an impactful thud. He’ll have a nasty bruise, that’s for sure. 

“Andrew!” Someone shouts. Neil? But the sound is all wrong, off somehow. 

Adrenaline pushes Andrew to his feet, and he chances a look back at the barrier, but.

Neil is gone. 

Andrew raises his knife again, taking a defensive position, as he glances around looking for the Faceless. He tries to slowly edge his way back into the barrier to where Neil was when suddenly he stops.

Standing in the center of the barrier is Drake.

Impossible, Andrew thinks. He knows it has to be a trick of some kind, a trap. Drake died by his own hand nearly three years ago. Throat slit in the very bed he laid for Andrew, back in the basement of that decrepit brothel. Andrew’s hands smelt like blood for months afterwards.

Drake snarls something, but Andrew can’t hear it through the hammering in his ears. Every muscle tense, every instinct honed. What magic was this, to bring the dead back to life? Was it real, or just his imagination? Either way, Andrew couldn’t take his chances. He has to kill.

“AJ, your next client is here. Treat him well, alright. Or else.” Drake laughs, his grin splitting his face. Andrew sees red. He would not go back to that life. A life of parting his legs, the weight of someone forcing him down-

It bears not remembering. So Andrew doesn’t think, just strikes, like a coiled snake.

Andrew throws his knife and just barely misses Drake’s face, cutting a line of blood on his cheek. “Oh, A.J, you know better than that. Don’t make me hurt you while I ‘discipline’ you.”

His gaze burns more than the words, as if it’s trying to see through him. 

Andrew throws another knife; this one lands solidly into Drake’s leg, and he falls to his knees, blood staining his pants. Andrew takes this chance to run at Drake, his last knife drawn, and he tackles the monster to the ground. 

Andrew holds the knife up and spits in Drake’s face. 

“Die,” Andrew says, monotone even now, in the face of a pitching anger bubbling up his throat. He didn’t think he’d be able to feel so easily, so freely, yet it pulls at the corners of his mouth, threatening to split his cheeks. This poison usually swirls inside, circling and seeping into his bones, his blood. Rotting him from the inside out, threatening to leak out.

“Andrew,” Drake says, but the tone is all wrong. Drake doesn’t struggle, just looks Andrew in the eyes, as calm as a dead sea. His eyes flash blue, and that’s all wrong too; Drake’s eyes aren’t blue. But it must be another trick. 

“Andrew,” Drake repeats, in that same calm tone, that same blank face, but it’s twisting now, turning upside down. “Drake is dead.”

Andrew hesitates; his blade shakes. That’s enough. Drake flips Andrew off of him, and slams his hand into Andrew’s side. Andrew coughs up blood, his vision blurs. He’s disoriented for long enough for Drake to pull the blade right from his hand. 

Andrew kicks out wildly, and somehow his hit lands, kicking Drake in the face. 

“Fuck,” Drake spits, but now he sounds more like-

Andrew jumps to his feet and looks down to see Neil where Drake once was. 

“You’re hallucinating, Andrew,” Neil rasps, and scrambles back, hand clutching his bleeding nose. His leg is bleeding out. “Don’t touch me. I’m bleeding, fuck.”

Andrew raises his fists. 

“Andrew, the Faceless can draw upon anything in your memory and project them onto someone else. They can make you hallucinate and kill your allies. That’s how they usually are able to take out entire groups of travellers. Most people avoid their nesting place because they are so dangerous.”

Andrew looks at Neil, but doesn’t drop his guard.

Neil sighs. “Check your wrist. The bonded mark will only glow in my presence. I’ll press on my half of the bond mark and that will make your wrist burn. The creature’s illusions are not so advanced that they can recreate a physical sensation, only visual and auditory.”

Andrew can feel the burn on his wrist, where the bonded mark is, as Neil says it. 

“Neil,” Andrew tries at first, without lowering his guard.

“Andrew.” Neil’s voice wavers this time, caught up in some emotion Andrew struggles to identify. Relief, maybe, or recognition. “I know you don’t trust what you see, and you don’t have to. You can keep an eye on me and follow my instructions. Grab your knife; it’s just behind you.”

Andrew steps back and crouches down, all while watching Neil. He glances away only to grab the knife by the hilt and quickly adjusts so Neil is back in his line of sight. 

Neil hasn’t moved. “Just behind my head, to the left, I feel pressure against the barrier.”

Neil closes his eyes, as he feels. It only takes a couple of moments before Neil says, “Now.”

Andrew throws the knife. As it connects, the Faceless screams, reappearing as it bashes against the barrier. It’s enough, and the barrier pops, magical energy expelling in a gust of wind outwards. The creature screams and rushes forward blindly; Andrew’s knife sticks out from one of the eyeholes in the creature’s mask. 

It screeches a horrible guttorial clinking nose, spine snapping back and forth, as it lunges for Andrew. Andrew stumbles backwards a couple of steps, his fists raised.

The creature hisses, again, blood splattering out, and Neil takes that moment to jump up, and around, to crash into the creature, bleeding palm first. The bleeding palm and strength of Neil’s blood magic is enough, as, yet again, Andrew watches the creature burn away to nothing before his eyes. In the blink of an eye, Neil falls to the ground, stomach first. The Will o’ Wisps dispersing as soon as their master has vanished.

Neil’s shoulders heave and he lingers long enough to reglove and take a piece of the Faceless’ mask for himself, shoving it quickly in his bag. 

“Your Highness,” Neil says, nearly out of breath. Painstakingly, he works his way to a sitting position, wincing along the way. “The illusion should have been fully dispelled by now.”

Neil exhales sharply twice, and then groans as he pulls the knife out of his leg and holds it up for Andrew to see. “Are you alright?”

Andrew relaxes his guard only slightly. Neil is bleeding from his stupid face and his stupid leg, and yet. “Stupid.”

Neil nods once. He pulls some cloth from his bag and efficiently wraps his still bleeding leg, in an attempt to stop the blood flow. Once he is satisfied with his work, he pauses to glance over Andrew. “I am as well, if you were wondering.”

Truly an idiot. But Neil appears to not be interested in an actual answer from Andrew. He holds his hand over his leg wound, his palm flashing blue. Healing magic, of some kind, it appears. Of course Neil has more tricks than he would ever initially let on. 

“It’s surprising,” Neil says finally, after the blue glow has nearly faded out. Either out of magic, or done with its task. “How well your aim is, Andrew. You almost never miss the mark, and yet proclaim to not use magical aids. I don’t think even Kevin is that skilled. And he uses magic.”

Neil turns the knife around, as if examining that it truly is not spellbound, though his rotations are fast enough that Andrew doubts Neil is seriously looking. 

“Hmm.” Neil taps the knife against his chin, close enough to his lips that Andrew swears has to be intentional provocation. But, then again, it’s Neil. “I’ve never seen you practice, either. Yet you are clearly better than most top knights, present company included.”

“Your point?”

“Just making an observation.” Neil shrugs a little. He seems withdrawn, exhausted perhaps, but trying desperately to mask it. It seems he cannot handle prolonged use of his powers. “Tell me, how did you become so skilled?”

“How does the sun rise, the moon set?”

Neil scoffs, “Are you saying it is as easy as breathing? A natural talent?”

It’s Andrew’s turn to shrug. 

“You’ve no interest in polishing your combat abilities or ruling your kingdom. You don’t even have an interest in finding a cure for your own ailment, or else you would be more desperate. Instead of just...along for the journey.”

Andrew stares at Neil in response.

“Is there anything that does interest you?” Neils says, finally. Seems he can’t bear the silence any longer.

“You. Sometimes,” Andew says it casually, without any emotion. “When you are not talking about useless things.”

“Useless? How is living useless?” Neil sounds genuinely confused, bordering on upset. “So much of my life I’ve spent focused on just trying to live until the end of the day. I’ve blended in to be nothing, and no one, just to-” Neil cuts off, and shakes his head. Too angry to continue the thought, Andrew supposes.

Nothing and no one, huh. 

Andrew tilts his head. “Sometimes you are unbearably stupid and therefore infinitely less interesting.”

“...What?”

“You’ve escaped the Nest, so what is there for you to be afraid of now?” Andrew poses a challenge. 

“Afraid? This isn’t about me.” Neil pauses to take a deep breath. “You have everything at your fingertips. An entire Kingdom. Family. A life. Why won’t you use any of it?”

Why is Neil subscribing to foolish idealism? He doesn’t seem like the type to fall for naive children stories. As if ruling a kingdom would make any difference. Andrew is, and always will be, a problem the world tries to solve. 

“Oh, Neil.” Neil truly is a mystery. Andew can hardly stand to listen to him when he preaches. “The world doesn’t like people like you and I. Haven’t you already learnt that by now?”

Now, Neil stays silent. 

“You be someone. You’re free now, with endless opportunities. Once you fulfill your end of our contract, you can go take over a kingdom or two, if you want. A power like yours would be highly coveted in higher courts.” And feared, but Andrew doesn’t feel the need to mention that. Judging by how shifty Neil is, he already knows his value. 

Neil bites his lip and shakes his head. “We should wake the others.”

And so Neil marks the page and ends the chapter. Not so keen on speaking about himself still? Boring and yet interesting, all in one conversation. How Neil-like.

“The Faceless?” Andrew indulges Neil and changes the subject of their conversation. He’ll get the answers he wants, eventually. He needs to be patient, it seems. That is something he has years of experience with. The art of hunting one’s prey, albeit in a different context. 

Neil shakes his head. Andrew’s throwing knife pusles in Neil’s hand, and the blood on the blade evaporates. “Gone for now. But we are not safe. It’s best that we leave this forest as soon as possible. It was almost too easy to win.”

And so they set their sights on the looming mountain. 

One step closer to ending their quest.

**  
White Zinnias stand tall; its many faces bunched together, peering, obscuring its yellow heart. Protection. Andrew used to want to stick his face in, too; blend in, disappear. One plucked petal would hardly matter, in a sea of identical faces. Too bad he never really fit in. 

He was always dyed red. 

“Neil, let us help you! Renee is practically a healer. It is literally in her role description to heal.” Dan has been arguing this point multiple times to Neil, who is stubbornly insisting that the knife wound in his thigh is perfectly fine, normal even.

Neil opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted before he is even able to begin. 

“Neil, I can’t believe you dealt with a Faceless alone?!” Matt says for the umpteenth time to no one in particular, hands outstretched to the sky. 

“Neil’s a badass, so that’s not too surprising,” Nicky chimes in. Then, with a glance in Andrew’s direction adds, “He wasn’t alone. Andrew was there too, you know.”

A pointless conversation. Neil will ultimately do whatever he feels is best to do. Why they bother wasting their breath, Andrew will never understand. 

Renee stands a little bit away from Neil, watching the exchange. She is always patiently waiting for people to come to her, rather than impose her presence. Her expression is a little stiff, though. Preoccupied.

Andrew walks over to her side. “Problem?” 

Renee doesn’t look at him when she answers, “It was truly a Faceless?”

Andrew hums the affirmative. He doesn’t know enough to dispel it, but Neil doesn’t appear to have motivation to lie.

Renee inhales sharply. Then, in a hushed tone, says, “Do you know if they are native to any other region of your kingdom?”

Andrew puts effort into recalling, rather than just answering the negative. But even then. “I’ve never heard or seen of them before this encounter.” 

Renee is silent. Andrew chances a look at her, and sees more of that tentative hope on her face. “The Princess must be near. I… had a Vision of her with the Faceless before you woke us up.”

That takes Andrew by surprise. What a coincidence it would be to run into the traffickers smuggling Princess Reynolds on this unrelated journey. Andrew doesn’t believe in fate or coincidences. 

“We will proceed with caution,” Andrew warns. No need to get her hopes up on a long shot. Renee’s Vision could have projected a future years from now. 

Renee nods, then plasters on her friendliest smile and heads to where Neil is still sitting down. “Neil, perhaps it is wise I take a look. Just to be safe.”

Neil grunts, seemingly too tired to protest anymore. He shifts his injured leg out slightly. Before Renee makes contact, Neil says, “Don’t touch my blood. It’s dangerous.”

Renee nods, and gently looks the wound over, instructing Neil on how to apply the medicinal salve. 

“Your Highness.” Kevin has been hovering behind Andrew ever since he woke up. Seems he now has found the courage to own up to his incompetence. “I was on watch, and yet I didn’t sense the creature hiding near the camp, or even when it laced its sleeping spell onto us all. I don’t deserve reprieve, I don’t deserve to, to serve as-”

“Kevin.” Andrew would rather take a knife to his thigh than listen to Kevin’s breakdown. “Shut up.”

Kevin clamps his mouth shut.

“I presume you have patrolled around our camp since then and have not seen any lingering enemies?” Andrew knows that Kevin needs a task in order to function. If left to his own thoughts, Kevin slips into self doubt and destructive thoughts. Another ailment of his time as Riko’s dog. Rat bastard.

Kevin shakes his head. 

“We need to move on quickly, before whomever is pursuing us launches another attack when we are ill prepared. Gather the supplies and prepare the rest to move on.”

Kevin salutes Andrew and bows low. Oh, Kevin. 

“I am fine.” Speaking of trouble, Neil’s patience seems to have stretched taut and snapped, like worn out rope. “We need to get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

“Neil, shut up,” Dan says, voice hard as steel, hands on her hips. “Renee? How is he, really?”

Renee smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “He is lucky. It seems he has advanced regenerative healing abilities, even greater than what I had originally thought. The wound is almost fully healed. Though, he appears to be almost completely magically exhausted. The price, I presume, for his recovery.”

“...told you I was fine.” So Neil could be petty, as well. 

“You are still injured and exhausted,” Renee continues, not unkindly. “You should rest, but you are right, we cannot stay here. I have a potion that prompts magical regeneration, though it is not a substitute for actual rest.”

Neil crinkles his eyebrows, his mouth drawn, surely poised to argue Renee’s compromise. Absolutely insufferable. 

“Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil looks at him. The displeasure is written in every line of his body language, his usual calm expression cracking, and, seemingly, all at once he stops. The swirling hurricane of emotions suppressed back to nothingness resembling Andrew’s own apathy. 

Neil chooses not to say anything. He merely extends his hand so Renee can drop the potion into it, but he doesn’t avert his gaze from Andrew’s.

“Um.” Nicky coughs and is ignored.

“We need to get out of the woods,” Neil says, finally, and breaks eye contact. He struggles to get up, and waves away Matt’s extended hand. “We should never have entered it in the first place.”

“Little late for that, don’t you think?” Nicky says, with a glance around, as if he just realized the potential danger they face. “Then? Where should we go?”

“We need to reach the top of Helios, but not this path. We should be able to retrace our steps back and find a way around.” Neil fumbles into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper. A map. So he had one all along. Curious he never consulted it until now.

“Where’d you find that, Neil?” Dan says as she peeks over Neil’s shoulder. “Wow. It’s very… detailed.”

Neil hums, but he doesn’t really seem to have heard Dan. After another moment of thought, Neil sighs. 

“You don’t look well, Mister.” A woman laughs.

Andrew whips around behind him, knife drawn, to face the enemy.

In the clearing, a woman in black dances, swaying from side to side to a melody only she hears. Andrew hadn’t even heard her approach.

Andrew feels the heat of Kevin’s flame before he sees Kevin appear in front of him. 

“Mister, I know where you can get help. Just follow me.” The woman laughs again, soft and carefree. 

Her face is upside down.

“Miss, but I don’t know your name,” Neil breaks the silence, and walks forward, to stand just in front of Kevin. “Won’t you tell me?”

The woman laughs louder this time, her long, dark hair flying as she does a twirl. “How so rude of me, Mister. How could this humble one not share her name!”

The woman spins again, as if in thought. “Well, Mister. I can’t quite remember. They called me ‘this one’ or ‘woman’ or ‘bitch’ for so long, I seem to have forgotten.”

The woman pauses mid step, her neck cracking, and smiles. She stands an arms length away from Neil. “What is your name, Mister?”

Neil pauses as well. Then, in an act that could truly win him an award, answers, “Miss, I don’t know my name either. They never called me anything other than ‘it,’ you see. I apologize for my own rudeness.” 

The woman’s eyes shake. “You too, Mister. So sorry, I thought you were among the living, and I wanted to help you join us. Seems I have misjudged you, Mister.”

The woman reaches up and suddenly, violently, rotates her head to the right position, her bones cracking along the way. “Won’t you follow me anyway, Mister?”

“I think it’s best if we went our separate ways,” Renee cuts in, her eyes flashing purple. The air swells with Renee’s magic, a calming energy that Renee likes to employ to make her appear less volatile permeates the space. It’s one of Renee’s favorite tricks to subtly diffuse tense situations. It usually works.

“Who.” The woman cracks her neck so she can glare in Renee’s direction. “The fuck are you?”

“I’m just like you, too,” Renee replies, calm as a gentle breeze. She smiles, so genuinely, like an imitation of the sun. It burns, a little to see. “Won’t you tell me what your intentions are?”

There’s magic in the words, like Renee is casting a spell as she speaks, one that draws the target to spill their truths. Another one of Renee’s tricks that Andrew knows well. It’s how Renee is able to get information from anyone and everyone.

“I’m a messenger of the-” the woman stops, the strangest grimace curling her lips, as if someone were pinching them shut. She tries to speak again, but nothing comes out.

“Why are you here?” Renee tries again, her eyes still glowing their vibrant purple.

This time the woman raises a hand and points her bony finger at Neil. “I need to collect Nathaniel.”

Neil inhales sharply, then forcibly chokes the sound off. As if the inhale of surprise itself was an admission to something. An arrow pointing to an unraveling lie.

“Who sent you?” Renee continues on, stubborn to uncover the truth.

“I,I-” The woman chokes, and then bends over howling. She grunts out, “my… Master.”

“Who is your Master?” The magic is fully saturated now, so much that even Andrew can almost taste it. The Ghost stands no chance in the face of a fully powered Renee. 

“My master? My master is, not, I-” The woman, again, freezes mid sentence. Suddenly, her mouth cracks all the way open and quick as lightning her clawed hand reaches into her mouth, her throat, to rip her tongue out. Blood sprays out of her mouth and drips from her eyes. She lets out a horrible scream. 

The woman examines her bloodied hands in disbelief before lifting them to feel for her missing tongue. She tries to say something else, but is utterly incomprehensible. 

“Um. What the fuck,” Nicky says. For once, Andrew echoes the sentiment.

The woman babbles and cries, her hand still down her throat, blood dribbling out. Her eyes roll up into her head, when, suddenly, she vanishes.

“Renee,” Matt says, seeming to have found his voice. “Did...you do that?”

Renee’s magic quells. “No. Its master called the ghost back.”

“What the fuck,” Dan says, uselessly. She may as well have not even been there for all the help she offered. “Was it being controlled by another Witch? Or a creature?”

Renee shakes her head. “It’s hard to say.” She turns to Neil, a question in her eyes she dares not voice. You know though, don’t you? 

Neil picks up the splintered shards of his expression, and neatly glues them back together, all within the span of moments, heartbeats even. “We need to get out of here. We’re in the Dead Forest.”

“Neil.” Kevin whirls to face Neil, his sword drawn and flaming. “You cannot keep withholding information! You are going to get us all killed.” 

“Kevin,” Neil hisses. “We can argue now and wait for another Ghost to come, or we can leave and discuss this later.”

“We have a better chance at survival if we know exactly what we are up against!” Kevin shouts back. The flames encompassing his sword burn hotter, brighter. As if threatening to burn Kevin with it. 

There are eyes in the forest, watching. 

“Kevin,” Andrew says. Kevin jerks in surprise at Andrew’s voice. “Move.”

“Your Highness!” Kevin’s face is blotchy red now, directly proportionate to his rising anger. “We cannot continue to trust his word!”

The glint of a weapon, a sword most likely, flashes almost in range of striking at Kevin’s stupid head. Andrew already has a knife drawn and thrown by the time it nearly makes contact. It’s a close call, but his knife clangs off the weapon, and the two fly off in opposite directions. 

Kevin only looks on in stunned silence.

“I will not repeat myself,” Andrew says as he collects his knife. “We are not alone.”

The crackling bone is the only notice they get before the Ghost appears, her face a bloody mess, her clawed hands reaching around to grab at Neil.

“Neil!” Dan shouts, her wind swirling, but another projectile flies out from the forest, this time aimed for her. She curses and jumps out of the way.

The ground shakes with Matt’s efforts to dodge his own attacks; arrows fly from Nicky’s bow to fend off the increasing projectile weapons, knives and rocks and axes, all manner of weapons being thrown with no rhyme or reason.

But Andrew only has eyes for Neil.

Renee reaches Neil first, and is able to push him out of harm’s way. The Ghost disappears again, slower this time, as if it’s burning itself out with each attempt.

“We need to run!” Neil shouts. “Some of these weapons are probably illusions with real ones mixed in. Focus and you can sense what’s real and what’s fake. 

“Easier said than done,” Nicky mutters, as he shoots down an axe aimed for Renee’s head. 

Neil pulls the map from his bag and hands it to Renee, the closest to him. “We’ll need to split up. Renee, lead the way to the marked meeting point. I’ll cover you.”

Renee nods and grabs Nicky’s sleeve. “Dan! Matt!”

“I’ll stay with Neil!” Matt, ever the hero, shouts back as he breaks the ground. Seems he is kicking up rocks and hurling them at the projectiles. “Dan, go with Renee. We’ll reconvene later.”

“Matt! Neil! Don’t be stupid!” Dan warns. She thrusts her palm out and a gust of wind nearly takes out a tree with its force. 

Renee, Nicky, and Dan run as they block attacks, the rest trying to cover for them. 

“See you later!” Dan yells. Soon, they are out of sight.

The Ghost lets out a guttural groan, any ounce of humanity seemingly gone. She reappears, swiping at Matt, before flickering away again. 

“She’s weak.” Matt feels the need to state what they can clearly see. “Any chance you have a way to take her out, Neil?”

“Nothing I have the energy for.” Neil grunts as he dodges an axe, both his gloves off and hands out in front of him defensively. For the most part he dodges the attacks sent his way, but sometimes Neil is forced to disintegrate a weapon just before it strikes him. “You?”

Matt laughs and stomps the ground. “Thought out spells aren’t really my style.”

“Your Highness.” Kevin is back to back with Andrew. “We must move on, too.”

Andrew tilts his head in contemplation. He is down to his last knife and has resorted to swiping the weapons away once they are within arm’s length. It’s effective, albeit more of a risk.

“Neil,” Andrew says. Kevin hisses, but says nothing. 

“I suppose we can’t stay here forever,” Neil responds, unusually agreeable. Andrew had expected a smart remark at the very least. He must truly be exhausted. “On my count?”

The rattling Ghost appears, screaming and glowing bright. 

“Neil!” Matt screams.

Andrew doesn’t think, just moves. He yanks Neil by the collar and rips him out of the way.

The Ghost sinks her claws into Andrew, burning at the touch, impossibly bright. 

“Andrew!” Neil yells.

In the span of a bink, Andew goes from the Dead Forest to a cave. The Ghost heaves one last scream before dislodging her claws and breaking into pieces, apparently having exhausted the remainder of its life transporting Andrew.

Once the ghost disappears, Andrew realizes he is not alone. Before he is able to get his bearings and draw his knife, a woman thrusts her spear into Andrew’s shoulder. 

He does not even wince, or cry out. It is nothing more than a bug bite in comparison to other injuries Andrew has sustained, and yet, he can’t move. 

The woman raises an eyebrow and smiles, albeit begrudgingly, but does not dislodge her weapon. It must be laced with something, as Andrew’s strength is sapped away. Poison? Or a sedative of some kind. Well.

“Well, you’re not Nathaniel,” the woman says. She has a long scar across her face, spanning over an empty eye socket. “What a useless bitch Mary turned out to be until the end. Ha.”

“Lola,” a man says, in warning. He bears a resemblance to Lola, but clearly does not carry the same crazed contempt. 

“Ok, Romero, ok.” Lola sighs, twirling a loose lock of hair. She leans down, close enough that Andrew can feel her breath on his face. “So. Who are you?”

Andrew glares, and, to be contrary, spits in her face. It lands right where her eye should be by design. Even for this, Andrew has perfect aim. 

Lola jerks back, in shock, her expression frozen. It seems the amusement wins out over anger, or even disgust, and she laughs. “Oh, ok. We’ve got a feisty one, do we?”

Lola wipes her face with her free hand and then, slowly, grabs Andrew by the throat. 

Andrew doesn’t break eye contact, even when Lola swings her fist and connects with his face. It isn’t a very strong punch, but perhaps that wasn’t her intention. It jerks his head a little bit to the left and he sees-

Princess Reynolds watching him balefully. Well. One question answered and another immediately takes its place. Why, exactly, is Princess Reynolds here?

Lola punches Andrew again, seemingly, to make a point. What, exactly, is unknown. Perhaps, she wants to feel oh-so-strong. Pathetic.

“Lola,” Romero interrupts, like claws smearing her bloody painting. “That is the Prince of Columbia, Andrew. Don’t you remember our brief?”

“Him?” Lola strokes a finger down Andrew’s cheek, as if she’d be able to tell one way or another if it truly is Andrew or not. After some thought, Lola groans. “Well, I guess we shouldn’t kill him. Not now, anyway. Least we upset the little King of Evermore.”

“Lola,” Romero says. “Watch your tongue.”

“Yes, yes. I know.” Lola smirks. “But we can hurt him a bit, can’t we, Rome?”

“As long as he is still recognizable, I don’t care.”

Lola laughs. Andrew closes his eyes. 

What does it even matter?

And so, the night passes, marked by sharp blows to Andrew’s face, his body. It doesn’t even hurt, not really. The only thing that really burns is-

His wrist. There are eyes in the Forest. 

They are coming. 

***

Yellow tansys dance with a mere gust of wind, yellow hair fluttering, heads bobbing. Green stems so delicate and thin, ready to be snapped. And yet, they fall so easily between Andrew’s fingers, bending to kiss the ground, but not breaking. 

Not yet. 

Andrew has never seen the ocean before. He’s heard of it, of course, from the merchants who’ve travelled by boat that would stop by the brothel. Sometimes, Andrew would catch the tail end of a story about a stormy sea journey, where the merchants recounted their valiant battles of conquering roaring sea waves to complete an order. 

Andrew can recall all of the physical descriptions despite how slurred or jumbled, but the words meant nothing. Often, they were too disorganized to really paint a picture. The strongest memory will always be the lingering smell of saltwater on a bag, or a handkerchief. Somehow, that painted the picture better than any drunk merchant could.

He used to climb trees when he was younger, and thought maybe he’d be able to see the ocean if he just reached the top and looked out far enough. Maybe he’d be able to see an escape to the dead end town he’d been abandoned in. 

He never did. 

Soon enough, he learned to stop listening to the tall tails of merchants. It was easier to close his eyes, shut his ears off, then to believe in something.

Feelings, however, seep through the cracks. Usually, Andrew wouldn’t mind the practice of it. It’s a way of measuring that he is alive, at the very least. But now, Andrew cares not to feel anything at all.

Water on his face, though, is a feeling that slips through the cracks. 

Andrew opens his eyes.

Princess Reynolds is glaring at him as she splashes his face with water. Once she notices that he is conscious, she extends her waterskin to Andrew. Her wrists are bound by chains, but they are close enough that he is able to reach.

The water tastes like blood, or, rather, it’s more likely that Andrew is tasting his own blood. He must have bit his tongue or cut his lip when Lola punched him. 

Speaking of, Lola appears to be half dozing in the corner, in a poor showing of keeping an eye on the prisoners. Romero is nowhere in sight. 

Andrew smells the ocean and closes his eyes, tilts his head back.

Reynolds throws a rock at his leg. 

_Your highness._ A voice hisses, but it sounds, distorted somehow. Perhaps Andrew has a ruptured eardrum. _Wake up._

Andrew opens his eyes and looks at Princess Reynolds. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t speak. 

Your Highness? It’s Allison Reynolds.

Well. That’s interesting. Andrew can hear the Princess, but her mouth isn’t moving. Telepathy?

. _Princess of the now fallen Reynolds Empire._ Allison tries again. It comes across derisive, yet Allison’s expression does not shift. _Can you hear me?_

Andrew very nearly rolls his eyes, but, instead, nods his confirmation. 

_Were you travelling alone?_ Of all the things to ask. Andrew shakes his head.

 _Good._ Allison sounds relieved. _Then there is a chance for rescue. They have us chained with magic dampening chains. The most I can do is project my voice, but I can’t read anyone’s mind or cast any spells._

Magic dampening chains. Andrew’s are snug around his wrists, right on the line where the cursed stems usually poke through. What will win; the strength of his curse, or the magic spelled metal? Andrew tugs the chains to test.

 _There’s only two of them, but._ Allison hesitates, and then looks to Lola. _They work for the Butcher. It’s best to be cautious._

It is rumored that the Butcher is King Ichirou’s, Prince Riko’s elder, more accomplished brother and true ruler of the Evermore Kingdom, right hand man. King Ichirou rules the underworld with an iron fist and is so effective in his rule, in part because he does not perform the dirty work himself. The Butcher is tasked with keeping Ichirou’s subjects in line, eliminating the competition, and performing any number of unsavory deeds as he is Ichirou’s most trusted vassal.

For that reason alone, King Ichirou is whispered to be untouchable, but Andrew knows better. The higher the status, the harder the fall. 

King Ichirou will meet his end, one way or another, like everyone else. Andrew does not care for the political affairs of other Kingdoms, unless they threaten what is his. Mostly, the neighboring Kingdoms didn’t bother with establishing either a good or bad relationship with Columbia, so Andrew could afford to ignore them.

However, how bold of King Ichirou to use Columbia’s land to smuggle valuables and traffic humans. And is it coincidence that one of the Butcher’s presumed targets is Neil? Neil did admit Prince Riko was after him; however, King Ichirou’s interest is on an entirely different scale. 

“Looks like his royal Highness is awake,” Lola crows, as she stretches her arms, and then her neck. Every move of hers shows her arrogance and ease in her power over the situation. “Did you have a nice nap?”

Andrew spits out the blood in his mouth in response. 

Lola laughs, shrill and unpleasant, like a tea kettle. “How defiant. It’s almost cute, in a smash-your-face kind of way. Too bad I have to leave you alive, for now. I would so like to crack you open and take a look at what’s inside.”

I want to take you apart, AJ.

Andrew slams his head back against the wall, out of reflex. His skin is crawling, enough that his fingers ache to scratch hard enough to bleed, but he bites down on his tongue and swallows it. He cannot show weakness here. 

Lola is standing now, but she doesn’t come any closer. Instead, she draws a magical array against the wall behind her. Once satisfied, she activates her magic, a red glow lighting the array, and slaps her hand in the center. She chants something in a language Andrew can’t decipher, and then laughs. 

“I’m sending a friend to greet your companions, Prince Andrew.” Lola’s voice sounds demonic, seemingly a side effect of her magic. She laughs again, and it’s distinctly lower, almost inhuman. “It’s unfortunate my last Ghost used up all her spiritual energy. I do wish I could have seen the look on Nathaniel’s face when he recognized her. Truly a family reunion to die for.”

Andrew really does not give a shit about what Lola has to say. He knows she needs to be eliminated and that is enough. Andrew pulls on his chains and they groan in response. The stems in his wrists must be eroding the metal, ever so slightly. Well. 

She practices Necromancy Allison cuts in, unnecessarily. She says necromancy with the same haughty tone that most royals use when describing a perceived lesser subject, or person. It’s a wonder she hasn’t burnt out her magic, by now. 

“Ah,” Lola’s voice is back to normal now and she’s facing them again. “I really don’t want to miss his expression of despair.” She scratches her head.

Lola doesn’t seem to expect a response as she continues, eying Andrew the way a predator would eye their prey right before the kill, “Well, maybe, I won’t have to. Are you two up for a little trip, hmm? It’s got to be more exciting than sitting in this damn cave!”

Lola stalks over, glances at Andrew, and then to Allison. “Well? Up!” Lola pulls Allison to her feet by the chain. It’s clear Allison has been significantly weakened, as she can barely stay standing. Lola gives her no time to rest, merely pulls her by the hair, dragging her to the cave’s entrance.

“Rome! We should go see the show, don’t you think? Have to confirm, for sure, that we’ve killed him this time! We’ll get scolded if we don’t.”

Andrew can’t hear Romero’s response, but it must be an affirmative one, as Lola shows up empty handed. “Your Highness. Up.”

Lola doesn’t want for Andrew’s consent before dragging him to his feet. Andrew doesn’t see the point in resisting, not when it will get him out into the open and provide a higher chance of escape, so he follows her out. 

It doesn’t seem like he was sent far; the forest is dense and not much different from the Dead Forest. 

“Let’s go kill your friends!”

Lola’s face morphs with her demonic glee.

The forest breathes around them, each branch shaking with every inhale, every exhale. But the sky is pitch black, the stars melted in, and the air is heavy with the magic around them.  
As if eager for the blood to be spilt.

***  
Snowdrops poke their heads through frozen January soil, their necks bent and drooping white heads nearly kissing the ground. They mark the beginning of spring, allegedly, yet all they offer is half hearted consolation. These pitiful little flowers die in the overwhelming heat of the summer’s glare; always the first to rise and first to die.

Andrew hates Snowdrops.

They’re walking, blindfolded, through the forest as the tree roots grab at their ankles and try to drag them into the ground. Or, at least, that’s what it seems like every time Andrew stumbles forward by the tug on his chains, bashing his legs into rocks and tripping on uneven ground. The chain quivers in Lola’s shaking hand, enticed presumably at the notion of petty torture as she continues to pull Allison and Andrew forward. 

“This should be far enough,” Lola says, and abruptly stops. She pushes Andrew to his knees, and pulls the blindfold off. The moon, high in the sky, is disorienting, but even more so is the shifting landscape of the forest that surrounds them. Lola is glowing red in the midst of her magic. It glows and bends the trees and the rocks to suit her needs. 

She’s creating a maze. Andrew pulls at his chains, sightly, and feels them catch. Spider lilies. 

How extraordinary unoriginal. 

“Ah, I can feel them.” Lola tips her head towards the sky, and grips her upper arms, shivering. “Three children have entered my Maze. Oh, how I can hardly wait.”

How does Lola not tire of her own voice? Its high pitched resonance is like a bird beak pecking at his eyes, into his skull. He pulls again on his chains, subtly, barely a visible movement, and feels the chain crack. Just a little more. 

“Nathaniel probably didn’t come to your aid.” Lola doesn’t sound disappointed by the thought, but instead reports it like it’s a matter of fact rather than opinion. The sun rises, the moon sets, and Neil runs away. “He’s a coward, you know. Way too scared to face a fight, especially one he knows he will lose. All he’s ever done is run away. But we’ll catch him. We always do.”

Andrew forces a laugh, short and sharp. “Idiot.”

“What did you say to me?” Lola turns on Andrew, face pinched as if she’s sucked on a lemon rind. “You think I won’t kill you?”

Lola crouches in front of him and grips the collar of his shirt. Andrew spits blood on her face.

“You lack intelligence,” Andrew says, slowly enunciating every word. “You can’t kill me. If you could, you would have. But I can kill you.”

Lola reels back, shock addling her movement, before she collects herself and raises a fist. 

Fire melts through Lola’s barrier before she has a chance to strike. It creates a moment of opportunity, a split second, in which the enemy is distracted and caught between two colliding threats. The threat of the unknown force versus the known subdued one. Of course she pulls away to face the new threat like a moth drawn to a flame. 

Andrew warned her he’d kill her. He doesn’t break his promises.

He reaches into his pocket, grabs Neil’s blood vial, and throws it at Lola’s head. 

He never misses.

Lola doesn’t make a sound. Maybe she isn’t even able to process what’s happening as the glass vial splinters into a thousand innocuous stars, blood bursting against her. Lola’s skin melts, her bones dissolve, and then she’s nothing but ash in the wind. How fitting an end, for trash. 

Kevin bursts through moments later, in a halo of fire, as Lola’s magic barriers begin to completely dissolve. Matt is not too far behind and so is Neil, to Andrew’s mild surprise. 

“Your Highness,” Kevin shouts as he stumbles forward, sword still drawn and flaming. Normally, Kevin is overly cautious, almost paranoid, as he plans and calculates, agonizing over every outcome, every variable, until he makes what he believes to be the best decision. 

But all it takes is one moment of carelessness, one vulnerability, and like a crack in thin ice, it all breaks beneath the weight of the earth. 

In this case, his vulnerability shows in the relief of seeing a companion, of thinking the only threat eliminated, and of trusting he is safe within Andrew’s range. 

Romero doesn’t miss the opportunity to strike.

Kevin lunges forward and Romero’s black sludge rises from the ground to meet him. The inky sludge grabs onto his ankles, and pulls him down before anyone is able to say or do anything. 

Panic, is Kevin’s second mistake. 

In distress as the sludge proceeds to swallow him whole, Kevin stabs his flaming sword into the sludge. The sludge ignites up in flames, an orange and yellow whirlwind of heat and smoke, and explodes. 

Kevin is there one moment, and then he isn’t. Nothing is left. 

Andrew has broken his promise. 

“Kevin,” Neil screams, lumbering forward. 

Matt throws an arm out to black Neil’s path, while simultaneously channelling his magic into a terrain altering stomp. The ground rumbles and molds into four walls thrust forward to encase Romero. It probably isn’t enough to eliminate him, but it's enough to separate and stall for time. 

Andrew’s ears ring from the force of the explosion and, oh, he’s on his knees, isn’t he?

Neil scrambles around Matt and he, too, falls to his hands and knees at the charred grass where Kevin once stood. Matt’s glowing as he follows Neil, careful to observe their surroundings. The ground is still shaking, cracking and molding around Romero’s black sludge magic. 

“Neil,” Matt says, “We need a plan. We can think about everything else afterwards, ok?”

Neil claws at the charred grass and doesn’t say a word. Or, well, if he does say anything, Andrew can’t make it out. He can’t hear anything other than his heartbeat and that horrendous ringing. Is this permanent? Would it even matter?

People leave and die. The sun rises; the moon sets. 

Andrew knows all of this objectively and recognizes that death is part of the risk a knight takes when he signs up. To die in battle, even, would be seen as a noble, almost desired, death. A death worth something.

But Andrew knows better. There is no nobility in death. 

Andrew slams his fist into the ground, hand cracking in a grotesque crunch, and then, pain. 

“Neil,” Matt says, but his voice wavers, now. He’s crying, and yet he’s staying so calm. Andrew didn’t think he’d have it in him. Although, he supposes Matt never liked Kevin much. Did anyone?

What a legacy, Kevin Day. Are you really going to die a coward?

“Kevin wasn’t supposed to die. No one was supposed to get hurt,” Neil says. But it’s low, and laced with disbelief. Andrew knows Neil does not mean to admit this out loud, and yet, the words fall from his mouth and tumble awkwardly to the ground. No one dares pick them up.

“Neil…” Matt tries again. But what is there to say?

“This… I can fix this.” Neil’s voice sounds so strange. Is he crying, too? No, Andrews sees Neil’s expression is cold as stone, his eyes bone dry. 

“Neil,” Matt says, a little louder. He sounds strained, as if he’s trying his very hardest to be comforting and just missing the mark. There is no comfort in death. “Why don’t you and Andrew escape first. I can hold the enemy back, but not for too much longer.”

“No,” Neil’s glowing blue as he rises stiffly, like a puppeteer has pulled on his strings. “I can make this right.”

“Neil,” Matt shouts. The ground violently shakes in response, shifting and crumbling to Matt’s will, as it closes in on Romero. “Focus! We need to get out of here.”

Finally, there’s recognition in Neil’s eyes, a flicker of a dimmed light, as if Neil can finally hear Matt. Neil meets his concerned gaze and quiets his magic, his glow dimming to almost an unnoticeable level. Neil nods stiffly, and then catches Andrew’s eyes. 

Andrew regains his balance, his standing, every muscle in his legs aching in protest. But he has a job to do and promises to keep. His hand aches. 

He frees the Princess first, breaking the whittled chains she has been steadily wearing down against the cave’s wall presumably for the entirety of her captivity. She must have been trapped with Lola’s group for a very long time to have been able to erode the metal to this extent, it hardly needs much force to break. The Princess immediately rubs her bruised wrists, but says nothing. She has enough common sense to keep her mouth shut; though, she feels the need to supplement a verbal thanks with a placeholder and woodenly nods her thanks. 

The Princess strides forward, head held high, as she addresses Matt, “Sir Matt, I assume?”

Matt startles at her voice. Apparently, he did not even notice the Princess was there. “Who- Princess Allison?”

“Yes,” Princess Allison nods primly, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “Renee has spoken about me, I’m sure. We will have much to discuss later, but first, we must deal with the enemy.”

Matt winces. “Yes, Your Highness. I would recommend you follow Neil to our rendezvous location to regroup with the others. Renee is anxious to meet with you.” 

“No.” Princess Allison tilts her head in consideration. The clouds darken overhead, looming, watching. “I think I will empty the trash. Sir Matt, if you would open the top for just a moment, when I tell you.”

Matt grunts, his hands outstretched now as his magic weakens, his fatigue showing in every twitch, every drop of sweat. 

When the Reynolds Kingdom fell, it is said that the sky blackened, the wind howled, and the heavens wept for five days straight. They whispered it was as if the world itself mourned the overthrow and eventual passing of the royal family. Magic had not been banned in the Kingdom, then, nearly a year ago now, and yet none of the common folk could fathom a power strong enough to mold nature to its will, in an almost godlike showing. 

If there had been such a power, how could the Kingdom have fallen? 

Princess Allison glows a bright purple now, as the clouds loom foreboding above her. She points up to the clouds, and they, too, pulse purple. 

“Sir Matt, on my mark,” the Princess says, the glowing purple growing impossibly brighter. Then, when it seems to have enough energy to snap down to the earth, and strike her where she stands, she shouts, “Matt!”

Matt releases some of his hold, allowing Romero to break through the top, ever so slightly, poised to slip away and strike. Then thunder strikes him down, igniting his black slime into a fireball. The heat is immense, enough to scald skin by just standing near it, but most of the heat is contained with Matt’s lingering magic. Just like that, Romero, too, is there one moment, and then gone the next. 

The darkness lingers in the sky; the wind rattling the trees. 

It seems there are no more eyes in the forest, now. 

Matt grunts and falls to the ground in exhaustion. “Gods.” 

“Good riddance,” Princess Allison hisses. She lingers a moment looking at the broken ground where Romero died and then to where Lola did. She wrinkles her nose, but is apparently satisfied enough to keep her silence.

Surprisingly, she goes to Matt’s aid, her hand glowing purple to heal his magical exhaustion. She doesn’t look at him as she does, perhaps because it is assumed a task too lowly for a pure blood royal, and yet, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. 

They fought and survived.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Matt stands shakily. “Are you wounded?”

The Princess waves him off. “Nothing fatal. We shouldn’t linger here. The Ravens will hear of this soon, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Matt says as he bows. “I shall send a signal to our companions immediately. They are based not too far from here. If your Highness may please accompany me to launch the signal, this knight would appreciate it.”

The Princess glances over to Neil, and then Andrew, before she responds. “I shall.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but Matt’s intentions of giving Neil time alone are clear. He must mean for Andrew to follow along, but he ignores them. 

What can Matt say to a royal? His frustration is expertly hidden behind his flimsy smile and perfunctory bow in Andrew’s direction, before he leads Allison to just out of sight. They will be listening, surely.

Andrew doesn’t consciously decide to move to Neil’s side, and yet that is exactly where he ends up. He tugs at Neil’s collar, not enough pressure to hurt, but enough to feel. Neil is a venus fly trap snapped shut. There is no reaction, no recognition. Neil hadn’t even liked Kevin, for fuck’s sake.

“Shut up,” Andrew says, voice pitched low enough so only Neil can make it out. He tugs a little harder at Neil’s collar. 

Neil huffs, dry and empty. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re thinking so loud it’s giving me a headache.” Andrew’s fingers twitch the way they always do when he’s craving tobacco. Too bad Kevin held his stash. “Just shut up.”

Neil’s jaw works as he processes his thoughts. Always so careful not to give too much of himself away, even now. Finally, he says, “He didn’t have to die, Andrew.”

True. Maybe it wasn’t his time, but life isn’t fair, isn’t just. They both know that, by now. “Everyone dies.”

“But.” Neil’s still not looking at him. “If I hadn’t-” Neil bites his lip. Choking everything back, even now.

Enough is enough.

“Neil.” Something in Andrew’s tone forces Neil to finally make eye contact. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Andrew grips the back of Neil’s neck, grounding, safe. When’s the last time he’s had that thought? Or even the first? “Kevin died because of his own decisions and carelessness. Don’t make it any more complicated than that.”

Suddenly, the venus fly trap opens up to him all at once. 

Neil nods, a little color returning to his face. He’s still dazed, but coming back around. Maybe he just needs time. 

“I’m surprised you even showed up. Thought you’d take this chance to run.” Andrew says, as he releases his hold on Neil’s neck. His arm still aches, but he’ll be damned if he lets that show. “I know it’s your favorite pastime, when things go sideways.”

Neil huffs, just a tiny exhale of amusement. Andrew wants to shove his stupid face away, but he doesn’t. Instead, Neil reaches out to grab his wrist, but hesitates just before making contact.

“Is it ok if I touch you?” The way Neil says it, and his face as he does, is so fucking earnest, and open. Something deep inside Andrew twists and threatens to crack. It’s disgusting. Andrew really wants to push Neil’s face away now, and, well, that’s a new feeling. 

Instead, Andrew rolls his eyes, and says, “Yes.”

Gently, Neil examines Andrew’s hand, bloodied and broken. He rotates Andrew’s wrist, exposing the red lilies and thorny, green stems. It burns where he touches, but Neil is gentle as he applies some medicinal salve, and chants some spell. It feels better, but not by much. 

“Maybe I was tired of being the villain.” Neil breaks the silence, but doesn’t make eye contact. He fiddles with the medicine in his bag before giving up the pretense and turning his attention back to Andrew. Softly, he admits, “Maybe I wanted to be capable of saving someone. Saving you.” 

Fucking martyr. 

“No one asked you to.” 

Another huff, and Neil finally looks up, into his eyes, and leans closer. “Well, I wanted to try. For you”

Andrew licks his lips. He leans in. “So you did.”

Maybe it’s inevitable. Neil is like a meteor hurtling into Andrew’s solid earth. The rocks cave in, the dust billows out, and in the middle of all the cracks and ruin, is where Andrew and Neil converge. 

Neil keeps glancing at Andrew’s lips. 

Andrew grabs Neil’s neck, and pulls him in. Their lips crash together, and it’s not soft, it’s not kind, but it’s exactly as satisfying as the sweet burn of alcohol. They kiss, and everything melts away into nothing but just Andrew and Neil, fighting to keep this moment suspended. The heat and weight of Neil’s mouth as it moves with his, and his breath, the soft sounds of pleasure-

Fuck. 

Andrew breaks away first, gasping. 

Neil looks dazed, eyes glazed, but doesn’t chase Andrew’s mouth. He just waits. Watches. Fuck. 

“We are not doing this,” Andrew manages to grunt out. He tries to erase the taste of Neil’s mouth by rubbing the back of his sleeve over and over his lips. Hard enough to scratch, to cut, but he can still feel Neil. Fuck.

“Andrew…?” Stupid Neil and his stupid fucking face. He has the audacity to look confused, his face flushed. Andrew wants to kiss him again. 

Andrew wants. 

“Someone has to use their brain, and it’s not going to be you.” Andrew waves a hand, the other covers his mouth. “You’re not thinking clearly. We almost died. Take your pick.”

Neil blinks stupidly at him, and presses fingers to his lips. As if in awe. 

“We are not doing this right now.” Andrew puts some space between them, so the temptation isn’t as strong. Andrew will not become like them. He won’t. 

Silence. 

Then, Neil, of course, being unable to keep his big mouth shut, says, “Thank you, Andrew.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Neil’s eyes crinkle as he huffs his laughter. The dazed look is gone, but his cheeks are still flushed. Andrew wants to break something, but refrains. 

“Here,” Neil says, rummaging in his bag for a waterskin. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. We should be prepared to move when the others return.”

Andrew grunts and wordlessless accepts the waterskin from Neil’s shaking fingers. Andew takes a drink and nearly spits it all out. It tastes like blood and a flower mixture of some kind. He holds the water in his mouth and swallows. His throat aches, as if someone has shoved a burning ember into his mouth, burning fire on his tongue and down his throat. 

When he looks into the waterskin, he sees red hyssops mixed in. Thank you, Your Highness, is crudely scratched into the side. 

Neil.

Neil’s expression is smudged, a soaked watercolor painting Andrew can’t make out. His voice muffled; everything underwater. 

His wrist burns as if there are a thousand knives raking lines up and down his skin. His mouth opens and red lilies come bursting forth, retching from the back of his throat, his lungs. 

Andrew chokes once more, a lingering red lily tumbles to the ground. 

When there’s nothing left, Andrew gasps. 

“You were amazing.”

Far away, a raven takes flight. 

**

Red spider lilies say their final goodbye, kissing Andrew’s wrist every time they burn and die.

It’s only natural, Andrew thinks. Ocean waves crash against the shore, caterpillars break from their cocoons, Neil runs away without a word. Andrew’s not sure what he expected from a thief and a liar. 

But, Andrew had thought they were beyond all this now. That maybe, just maybe, Neil would make a different choice this time, one that didn’t involve cutting and running the second danger appeared. 

He was wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Major character death: Kevin.  
> Other deaths: Lola, Marissa, Romero
> 
> Other warnings: descriptions of implied rape/non con when Andrew worked in a brothel. Nothing is detailed explicitly, but it is implied/mentioned. Descriptions of blood, some disturbing imagery/monsters. Mild body horror. Please let me know in the comments if I'm missing anything, and I'll add it in here! 
> 
> Fun fact: I spent so much time googling and researching flower meanings to head every section, but I didn't write them down anywhere lol 
> 
> Thank you all for taking this journey with me! It has been a major labor of love. I honestly wanted to include more, but felt like this fic was long enough. I may add another story to this series, maybe, after the aftg reverse big bang. We shall see. 
> 
> Stay healthy and safe, everyone!


End file.
